Broken!
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: Severe abuse causes an enormous burst of accidental magic from which Harry learns to control the Dursleys. With their home as a casual base, he takes to the streets, thieving & improving his magic. Dumbledore-bashing. Dark retribution shocker. Grey nonreactive, noncompliant, anti-hero Harry. Friends. Fluff. Pairing. M-rated. Broken boy v powerful sanctimonious manipulative tyrant!
1. Epiphany Below

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 **BROKEN!**

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 **Chapter 1**

 **Epiphany Below**

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Descension

Naught breaks a true heart so much as a broken child. _Boy_ almost learnt his name this day; he was certainly taught a hard lesson. Darkness. Terrible pain. Skin-crawling terror. And something deeper within the Dursley cellar down whose cold brick stair he had been thrown – Uncle himself being too fearful to venture where he'd so violently despatched the little one.

Not yet seven, yet seven demons he faced – and worse. What lay, and crawled, and slithered towards him from below? Grazed knees sprawled 'cross cold brick steps. Thrashed soles – bare and bruising – lifted to ease the burning torment, unable to stand and nowhere to run, _Boy_ screwed himself into a tight ball and tried to stifle his whimpering lest that which he feared most should hear, close in, and engulf him in its scaly, spidery, loathsome, grinning maw.

Yet there was light.

Just a little.

As his tightly-closed eyes had adjusted over everlasting minutes, a not-quite-black dimness began to filter in whenever he blinked away sore tears. Yet that faint hope of escaping the totally dark void lay beyond his worst compass: down! Dare he risk all for a mere glimmer?

A gentle voice touched his mind: a forgotten memory? _Be brave, my little one. Go courageously through life, and life will open out a way._ It was the mysterious lady whose hair flamed red in his dreams. Soft was her singing; sweet her tone.

Encouraged, the child eased one raw knee down a step, staring into the bland dimness. Nothing. Another wincing, cringing step lower, bracing himself inwardly against the pain in his limbs. An edge! A faint vertical line of darkness marked the end of the stair wall below! One ... more ... step – then his terror evaporated like mist in sunshine; he had passed some kind of barrier!

Moving a little faster now by ignoring his tortured feet, a view of the cellar slowly opened up below him. The faint illumination of a street light filtered in through a high grid window, revealing only boxes, suitcases, and shelving – no monsters, no demons, nothing evil at all unless you counted the smell.

 _Boy_ sniffed the air. The odour appeared to come from a twisted wicker basket from which dangled some of his Aunt Petunia's long-abandoned underwear. His eyes and nose swivelled away to the opposite wall where a small but interesting-looking chest stood upon a ragged throw of carpet. Even in the low light he could see a broad label, and, propelled by elbows and stomach, wormed over to investigate. Though the boy had scarcely learnt to read, he could pick out a couple of words in his aunt's pinched writing: _Mum's Necessaries._ Cautiously he lifted the lid.

Papers, envelopes, and shoe boxes stuffed with documents were all that greeted his gaze. They included a big steel box with a lock, and an accounts book, and index cards held together by perished rubber bands. Receipts and business letters meant very little to _Boy_ so he lowered the chest lid, laid back on the worn-out matting, and rested his heels up on the chest to ease the stinging pain on the soles of his feet.

From the cracked and cobwebbed ceiling filtered the faint murmurs of his relatives together with David Attenborough's voice from the television: how he'd wished he could watch the monkeys, and how much he now regretted peeping through the partly open living room door. He twitched his feet and winced at the burning sensation that wouldn't go away. Sadly, his unfocused eyes drifted away to the most shadowy alcove and he closed his eyes, hoping to drift off to sleep.

Something beckoned him.

There was no way for _Boy_ to understand the call of magic, nor to appreciate that love can draw one's attention even through the thickest fog. He opened his eyes. In the corner he faced were the remains of a cardboard box – thrown or kicked – and entangled with more solid shapes: books!

One thing that _Boy_ loved was to escape into the illustrated books of his cousin Dudley – on the few occasions such an opportunity arose – perhaps these were some of Dudley's many throwaways? They didn't look torn or damaged at all really – not like most of his cousin's old books; was it worth the painful struggle to reach them...? Imagine if they turned out to be just Aunt Petunia's recipe books? Or boring stories without pictures? Or... –what if _Chronicles of Courageous Kevin_ was there!

Little Kevin had been a short-trousered character in one of Dudley's picture books. Kevin was bold and daring and went on adventures which usually ended with him rescuing his friend Anna from Villian Vaughn. That book had vanished not long after – _codfishskated_ according to his Aunt. Suppose _codfishskated_ meant thrown away down here like he was?

Inch by inch, _Boy_ crawled towards the treasure he craved. He wasn't crying now – there was a pretty girl to be helped across a raging torrent full of sharks and it wouldn't do for her to see his tears! He rubbed his eyes and wriggled on and on and...

They were not picture books! _Boy's_ disappointment was offset by the pleasing, flowery fragrance that seemed oh so familiar, yet unlike anything he distinctly knew. His wildest pretences could never have dreamt that five years was nothing to a witch's perfume.

A loose page peeped from a thin, dog-eared book, as if wanting to be taken. Nervously, _Boy_ teased it out with tiny, trembling fingertips. The paper felt soft as his skin, and there were fine claw marks – as though scratched by a cat or bird. Lettering, faint yet imposingly large, was angled across it. With difficulty he traced out the meaning using the index finger of both hands together, each fingertip angled inwards to trap one word at a time between them, so it couldn't escape till he grasped not just the nouns and verbs themselves, but guessed something of their significance. The effort took the young child quite a while...

 _Copy-Charmed For The Potter Family, 27th October, 1981_

And then an amazing experience arose within him!

No sooner had he understood the lettering, when his mind lit up to perceive many more words appearing straight across and obscuring the first few. And what curious handwriting! Not pencil. Not crayon. Not even like Uncle Vernon's precious ballpoint with his name engraved on it!

 _Dear Padfoot, thank you; it is done. At your insistence, James has made Wormy our Secret-Keeper. I still think you are wrong to suspect poor Remus, but our child's safety is paramount._

 _Little Harry rests quietly on my lap as I write, only giggling 'fuff' at my feathery quill when I tickle his nose with it. I swear he learns a new word almost every day, and I can't wait to begin teaching him spells from the enchanted book Remus gave him for his first birthday. He already leaks much emotional magic, why wait till he's eleven! He's going to be fearless and powerful, and I'm so proud of him._

 _Lots of love,_

 _Lily_

Pain forgotten for the moment, a little smile appeared on _Boy's_ face. His hand smoothed across where the name was. She sounded such a nice lady, and he envied the one being cuddled by her and wished –oh how he wished! – it could be him. Books forgotten, his smile faded and, broken, he began crying again.

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When Push Comes to Shove

The weekend over, a horsey-jawed woman twisted and pan-hammered a pair of larger shoes onto _Boy's_ swollen feet and returned him to school with a threat and a warning to keep his freaky mouth shut.

 _Boy's_ reply was no more than a subdued whimper. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Playtime for six-year-olds was an explosion of joyful release, squeals of delight, skipping, running, tagging, KitKats to chomp and crunch and splutter – with free milk, chatter, and utter forgetfulness of lessons' restraints! But _Boy..._ he kept his head down, stooped low in a corner behind a crowd of non-threatening five-year-olds. Once too often. A predator learns the haunts of its prey:

"Robber!"

 _Boy_ didn't look up. He knew the sound of his cousin Dudley's accusatory voice all too well.

"I said, you're a thievin' robber. Gimme back my shoes!"

Meekly, _Boy_ sat in the dust and began to unlace the shoes, trying to summon up the courage to defy his fat relative. All he managed was to murmur, "Aunt Petunia give 'em to–"

"–Liar! You're nothin' but a little lyin' thief robber – and you've wee'd in 'em too!" He pointed to the dark brown stain of dried blood on the inside as the first shoe came off to reveal one unprotected foot.

Dudley stamped down. Hard.

 _Boy_ screamed and pushed and, without warning, his cousin's leg was repelled upward so rapidly, the knee cracked Dudley's chin sending him up and backwards high across the milk crates, spitting blood and teeth, to bang his head on the bike shed wall.

Dudley wailed louder than any whale. A teacher was hurrying over. The 'non-threatening' but confusedly-excited five-year-olds were explaining they thought _Boy_ had attacked Dudley then stole his shoes. _Boy_ cringed in horror as he awaited retribution.

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The Knowledge Of Magic

Mr Cartwright, the unwilling teacher charged with frogmarching _Boy_ home, was as pleased to leave him in the care of Aunt Petunia as she was to close the door on his intrusion. Her fake, polite smile vanished instantly, yet she hesitated until the 'authority figure' was well out of earshot before swiping a hand across _Boy's_ head.

"Freak!" came the subdued cry she could suppress no longer. Then louder: "FREAK!" Finally, a prolonged scream squeezed all the air from her bony chest: " _FR–EEEA–K!_ "

 _Boy_ suffered himself to be pushed – no, punched and bashed and jostled – towards and through the basement doorway where he stumbled down several steps as the door crashed shut behind him.

Silence.

What had happened? What had he done? The pain as Dudley had stamped down had been so intense, _Boy's_ entire, desperate, explosive _will_ had been to throw off his cousin's foot from his own. And his wish had come true! How?

The world is ever new to a young child, and an immature mind in a state of learning will accept almost any experience as natural: birds can fly and not fall, fish swim without drowning, wish really hard and if it happens then it _can!_ He decided to try out this new discovery.

The cellar steps held no fear for him anymore. His sole concern was that he wanted the pain to end. Lying on the piece of dusty old carpet, he hoped and yearned but nothing happened, not even when he crossed his fingers. Disappointed, he hungered more and more. Why didn't it work? Why had his wish come true in the playground? He'd screamed then, but he couldn't scream here or Aunt Petunia would hear him. And he'd pushed! He remembered trying to push away the _cause_ of his agony! Closing his eyes tight as tight could be, screwing up his little face into a tight mask, the child now summoned all his concentration on the pain itself...

Something wondrous and astonishing was born then in that common, lowly place. _Boy_ pushed out both inwardly and outwardly with all his might, screaming inside his head, _STOP! STOP! STOP!_

He never noticed the pain fading away, nor the filthy matting cleaning itself. Perhaps the house was suffused with radiance and trembled, but if so, he knew it not. For there in the cellar of 4 Privet Drive, a broken child, a nobody without a name, surrendered blissfully to sleep as the knowledge of magic was revealed within him.

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The Enchanted Book of Spells

Peace. When _Boy_ awoke, _that_ was the sensation he most enjoyed: a peaceful, relaxed feeling that all was well. He began to crawl, pushing naturally with his feet – till he realised he could stand with very little discomfort and even walk with only a trace of a limp.

His one destination was the corner where he'd discovered the nice lady's letter. It had stirred his feelings before and perhaps it would again. _Boy_ had tucked it back inside its book for safekeeping and, sure enough, there it still was. More sure of himself this time, he opened the book and began to read it more carefully:

 _Dear Padfoot,_

What a funny name! And why would the lady write a letter and not post it in the big red letterbox down the street? Who were James and Wormy and Remus and Harry? Again he wished he were the little child in his mother's lap. _Wished!_ Perhaps he could!

 _Boy_ closed his eyes and concentrated really hard. He wished and wished he were Harry until he was red in the face, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't be other than himself. Perhaps whatever he'd done before was only for stopping things hurting? What exactly was _it_ anyway?

He sighed and continued reading the letter over and over. One word stood out more prominently now: _magic!_ Was that what had happened to him? And somewhere it mentioned a chanted, no, _enchanted_ book of spells...

The book! He'd paid no attention to the book in which he'd found the letter until now, because it was too slender to promise enough interest, and the open pages were all words without pictures. There were a lot of big words like _Mobilicorpus_ which he didn't know at all and, towards the back, words he couldn't even think, like _Tarantallegra!_ Perhaps there'd be some easier words near the beginning...

He leafed backwards and was astonished to discover far more pages than there could possibly be in such a thin volume. And there were, in fact, illustrations, but most of them involved a hand and a funny stick which seemed to move about but were no fun at all after a few minutes. He tried his best on the first pages and found a small easy-looking word, and the book said it _pulled_ instead of pushed! _Accio._

Closing his eyes, he thought hard about his favourite picture book. "Accio _Chronicles of Courageous Kevin_ "

He struggled with the incantation. He tried being nice and he tried getting angry – he was determined if nothing else. But the book was just not there.

Well, he knew some short words had big meanings – Uncle Vernon used some that _Boy_ was forbidden to repeat – but a few long words like _refrigerator_ were surprisingly easy to use. Long magic words might be easy to use too! His finger moved down the page to _Alohomora_ which could unlock things. What if _Kevin's Chronicles_ was locked inside the big steel box in Aunt Petunia's _Necessaries_ chest?

He really concentrated hard to pronounce the strange word: " _Hallo – ho – more – aah?_ ... _Allo... Alohomora!_

 _Boy_ heard a faint clicking sound up the stairs. Aunt Petunia was letting him out early? Why? Hiding the slim spell book with the nice lady's letter under his shirt, he tiptoed up the steps. He could hear his aunt bumping her foot irritably against the door. Did she want _him_ to open it?

"Auntie?"

Fearing a trick, yet even more afraid he'd be in additional trouble if he didn't come out, _Boy_ nervously opened the door...

"Auntie?"

The hallway was empty. Frowning, he stepped cautiously forward and stumbled over one of his cousin's discarded playthings on the floor. He looked around. Aunt Petunia's coat was missing from the coat rack – Thursday, she'd gone to the supermarket! Then how...?

Better tidy away Dudley's toy or he'd be in trouble, but when he reached down he saw it was a colourful picture book – _Courageous Kevin!_ Head shaking in disbelief, he snatched it up. Had _this_ been bumping the cellar door? Trying to come to his _Accio_ spell?

Never was there a happier boy in Privet Drive! _Boy_ took two slices of bread from a near-full loaf in the kitchen along with an empty marmalade jar he'd filled with water down to the cellar with him. What a feast! On his tummy he lay with the picture book open before him on the raggedy carpet. What fun! He smoothed one little hand across the pages to flatten them and gazed at Kevin heroically leading Anna to safety along a jungle trail! Her fair braids seemed to stick out more jauntily once she was safe – he'd always noticed that – while Kevin strode more proudly with a grim, serious expression on his face that he knew Anna admired; there was still a long way to go! After another bite of bread, _Boy_ turned the page...

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Hiding in the Cupboard

For several weeks, _Boy_ practised spells with mixed results. Some he could not understand; others he understood but could not perform! But so much more satisfying were the ones with which he did have success! " _Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Lying on his back in the cupboard under the stairs, he watched as the spell book hovered, face down, over and above his gaze. At last he could read more comfortably, leaving his arms and hands free to help with casting magic.

No longer was he a prisoner. Every lock in the house now obeyed him. The metal box in the cellar yielded lots of paper cash, only a fraction of which he spent buying sweets and comics in the local newsagent – but he needed to master the hiding spell if he wished to travel to Wittering where he could buy picture books. A lone six-year-old would attract attention.

" _Celare."_ _Boy_ always whispered his spells for he dare not attract attention. " _Celare."_ he repeated, moving his hand swiftly over himself which was the nearest he could copy the stick movement in the picture without banging an elbow on the cupboard door. He'd tried a short piece of bamboo from the garden a week before but only succeeded in adding scratches to his face. Hands only then if he wished to become invisible: " _Celare."_

With a shake of his head, he wondered how he'd healed himself that first time solely by pushing the thoughts, _STOP!_ with all his might.

 _CELARE! – CELARE! – CELARE!_

His arms sagged back to his sides and he stifled a groan. Apart from a chilly sensation he'd... wait, he'd been too flushed with excitement and determination to really notice the cool tickle on top of his head. Slowly, he lifted one arm again and held his hand up to the light seeping in at the edge of the door. The finger tips were almost... translucent! _Boy_ squinted hard but wasn't sure. Cautiously he cast a dim Lumos charm and let it float free as a sphere of illumination. He could see it through his finger nails! Knuckles too! Even the tip of his shirt cuff! But that was all. With a sigh, he resumed practising. The summer holidays were almost here!

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A Curious Letter

By his seventh birthday, _Boy_ had become quite proficient at 'acquiring' items from around the house. He could make himself almost unnoticeable and move things where he wished, but he still hadn't mastered the hiding charm. The best he'd achieved was a kind of washed-out appearance but he'd had to remain in his cupboard until it wore off.

He'd been awoken that morning by the sound of someone in the hall. There was a chink of coins and then the door lock clicked open. "OUT!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Wearily he pushed open the door and stared at the first real gift he'd ever received – from anyone. Two grubby two-pence pieces lay on the carpet. One might have been Irish, but still...

Aunt Petunia was at the letterbox skimming through the morning's post. Angrily she threw one letter at the little waste basket under the side table. It skidded off the top.

"Why haven't you emptied that, _Boy!_ "

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia." But nothing could dampen _Boy's_ spirits this morning. Pocketing his coins, he snatched up the fallen letter and tried to force it into the overloaded rubbish bin as he trotted more jauntily to the kitchen. He was seven! Taking care that his aunt wasn't looking, he swished open the fridge door with one wave of his arm then began preparing breakfast. As soon as the sausages and bacon were sizzling he began bagging up the garbage.

"Aunt Petunia, may I go out to–?"

"–NO! You'll clean the gravel in the drive first, and leave no stone unturned, then squeeze the greenfly at the bottom of the back garden – every leaf and blade of grass mind! After that you can help me prepare dinner this evening."

"Dinner! What about lunch?" _Boy_ almost dropped the kitchen pedal bin.

"Don't bother about lunch. Mrs Polkiss has invited Dudley and myself over for a chicken salad. You should be grateful you don't need to stop working till six! "

He turned over the bacon, lowered the burner, then began emptying the little hall bin into the black bag ready to take out to the wheelie bin.

"Aunt Petunia, this letter..."

His aunt was sipping a cup of coffee in the sunshine at the window. She smiled and waved at someone passing by in the street and muttered something under her breath. _Boy_ wondered if she'd said " _Bitch"_ but it couldn't be because that was one of Uncle Vernon's forbidden small words.

"This letter's come to the wrong address..." He held it up.

She glared at him. "I KNOW, you freak! Why else would I throw it away?"

A faint smell of smoke caused her to shriek some different small words, and Harry quickly rescued most of the sausages.

Dudley, wearing striped pyjamas, came in the door, sniffing the air. "Why isn't breakfast ready yet!"

"Daddy went to work early this morning, Dinky Duddydums! You're on holiday, remember? You don't need to go to school."

 _Boy_ served their meal, then, while they were distracted, he furtively dropped an almost complete slice of yesterday's bread from the pedal bin into the frying pan. As it was cooking, he re-examined the envelope. It was strangely thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink.

Turning the envelope over, _Boy_ saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

With difficulty he tried to speak the whole of the address in his mind, his lips moving unconsciously:

 _A Tremble  
The Porch Under the Ivy  
4 Private Path  
Much Wittering  
Surrey_

With a glance towards the back of Aunt Petunia's head as she bent over to check that her egg was the correct shade of yellow, he pocketed the letter, bagged up the content of the hall basket, then scooped out his own breakfast onto a piece of kitchen paper. Moments later he was walking cheerfully up the garden path towards the wheelie bin. And, if _Boy_ could have whistled with a mouth full of fried bread, well, then he would have been whistling. After all, he was on his summer holidays. The sun was bright on his pale skin. He was seven years old today. And, most of all... he was magical.

"Scourgify," murmured the boy, pushing his attention fully towards the gravel drive, and "Depulso greenfly," was all he needed at the bottom of the garden. Finally, he set off towards Wittering with an excuse in his pocket and two coins to scrub together. The stolen bank notes bulging in the back pocket of his worn-out baggy jeans were nowhere near as important as an actual gift.

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The Path To Enlightenment

"Ignore! Ignore! Ignore!" chanted _Boy_ as he walked along. He'd not mastered the proper hiding spell but had discovered this incantation used forcefully enough made people take less notice of him. "Ignore! Ignore! Ignore!"

After a while his right foot began to ache so he twisted out a stout branch from the hedgerow to lean on as he continued gamely on.

His mind wandered to thinking about the large bookstore in Wittering That was where his aunt had purchased _Courageous Kevin_ for Dudley. Five other books were listed inside of _Kevin_ stories, and _Boy_ was eager to read them all. What might befall Anna in _Kevin and the Pirates' Treasure?_ He imagined her marooned on a desert island while Villian Vaughn sailed away with a wicked laugh, a hook instead of a hand, and, of course, a wooden leg.

He reached the outskirts of Much Wittering by mid-morning. He aimed for a shortcut across a small grassy area with a damaged fence his Aunt had used to reach Wittering High Street. There – just ahead! From the look of the well-worn track that cut through the overgrown turf, half the villagers on this side must use it. Yet there was a difference he could not recall seeing on his previous visit.

The broken posts from the picket fence lay rotting where they'd always been. He considered whether any of them might make a better support than the branch he was using as a staff. The track was dry this summer but otherwise much as he remembered it. But surely there hadn't been a house here before? Of wood and stone, and what a curious shape! The lower levels were quite limited in size – as if there might only be a couple of small rooms in each. Above that, each floor expanded like the spreading branches of a tree yet topped by a roof of red tiles. _Boy_ was too young to realise that the angle at which the building leaned to one side was physically impossible. And on that edge, as if cushioning the inclination, grew dense shrubbery and foliage, some of which twined upwards almost to the eaves.

With a blink of his eyes and a shake of his shoulders, the lad turned his attention back to the track. Should he proceed through? Or go round? The plot was confined within a row of homes that extended in both directions. And besides, the track was clearly well-trodden. _Boy_ was seven now; he puffed out his chest and decided to risk it.

Not far in, a white sign with black lettering stood proud upon its own post. He understood the words written upon it immediately because he'd worked them out earlier that very morning:

PRIVATE PATH

 _Boy_ pulled the funny envelope out of his pocket and stared at it.

"Welcome... Harry Potter!"

Almost dropping the letter – clutching it back out of the air – the youth turned to the voice. Amidst the dense undergrowth he'd not noticed, there was a porch, and peering out between two thick strands of creeping ivy, was an old lady wearing a twisty, pointed hat.

"I'm rea–really sorry," stammered _Boy_ "I was just..." He pointed along the track, the way he'd been going. The sign caught his attention again, and he lifted up the letter to gaze once more upon the address. "Are... are you..." He looked down again at the address on the envelope. "...A Tremble?" he asked.

"A Tremble by name, and atremble to meet the boy who lived."

"'The boy who lived here..." echoed _Boy_ , not quite accurately. "Is that who you were waiting for when I came along instead? It was lucky you were, because I have this letter for you. It came to our address by mistake."

"By mistake...?" The old woman pushed through the creepers and stepped out into the open.

She did not look very trembly, thought _Boy_ , but then she was wearing long flowing robes that might have hidden the shakes. Her eyes showed no fear at any rate. In fact there was something nice about them that _Boy_ liked and to which he was drawn. He'd only experienced occasional glimpses of kindness during his short life – at least from what he could remember – but the gentle concern in her expression was as warm as the sunshine on his face. He couldn't know she was studying his scrawny figure and ragged clothes, and sensing the fringes of pain within.

"There's thick vegetable soup bubbling on the stove if you'd like some?"

She wiggled her fingers and the hungry boy breathed in a tempting aroma of onions and carrots and peas he'd not noticed before. His eyes widened with hope, but he was curious when she headed back to the porch. "Aren't you going to wait for the other boy?"

She smiled. "That's alright, he's here now."

"Then thank you, uuh..."

"Call me 'Granny', if you like."

The lad followed her quite happily, politely leaving his dirty stick outside on the porch. It was fun, he thought, squeezing through tendrils and vines to get inside a house, and nothing like Privet Drive whatsoever. "Oh, your letter..." He held it out.

"Oh, would you open it for me please, while I cut you some bread?"

 _Boy_ did so, and was asked to read it out to her. He couldn't. Not for a while. There were some very big words and the top line dazzled his imagination:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF  
WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Ignoring the little growls in his tummy which he blamed on the lovely steamy smells that were filling the kitchen, he worked his way down the page. "They want you to go to a witch's school? But you're too old!"

"Not much older than that letter. It's six hundred and sixty years since it was quilled, Harry."

That was far too much and too many things for the boy to digest in one gulp. Besides, he'd found a huge chunk of fresh crusty bread in one hand, a spoon in the other, and an enormous bowl of delicious soup before him. Quite how he'd taken a seat at the table he couldn't remember because he was too preoccupied with eating, and he daren't ask with his mouth full or he'd risk a thrashing for sure.

Only when his belly was full and he was able to lean back with a contented sigh, did his mind fill up with questions again. "How can it take that long for a letter to come through the post?"

"It didn't. I mailed it first class yesterday."

"To yourself?"

"Yes."

He watched with interest but no surprise as she removed her funny hat and floated it up onto a high shelf before he asked, "Why?"

"You wouldn't have been able to see my house until I told you the address. It's hidden, you see, Harry."

"Why'd you... how did you know that baby's name? I wish I had a name like real boys. Teachers call me Dursley but that's only because I live with my aunt and uncle."

The witch sighed and sat down at the table opposite him. "Your real and only name is Harry Potter. Your mother was Lily Potter. Nobody told you?"

"Like the baby in...?" He pulled the slim spell book out from under his shirt and re-examined the letter he'd carefully placed between pages 123456 and 123457 almost where the 'B's began. "That's me? I'm Harry?"

The old lady smiled. "You've a lot to learn." She leaned over and gently touched his forehead. He flinched instinctively, expecting at least a clip round the ear for being so stupid. The woman was frowning as she more closely examined his scar. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable with..." She gazed deeply into his eyes and he willingly allowed his dearest wishes to be caressed by her scrutiny. Their minds touched briefly. "With... Annie. Yes, I'll fetch her."

Harry watched the old lady struggle up the winding wooden stair and wondered if he'd disappointed her. The moment she'd gone, he heard voices from above: the old witch and then another... a child. He waited.

"Hello."

Dumbfounded, Harry stared at the little child coming down the steps. She was as close to looking like the girl in _Kevin's_ picture book as he could imagine, only even more real: fair hair and braids which stuck out like she'd just been rescued. "Are you... are you the real Anna?"

"You may call me that. After all, you're the real Harry, aren't you?"

He was still absorbing so much that it took him time to speak, and when he finally did, it seemed _Boy_ was accepting who he, himself actually was for the very first time. "Yes. Yes, I'm... Harry Potter."

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—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Ten chapters already being polished - around 45,000 words short novel or novella. This is a little harder-edged than my usual stuff so its M for good reason. Don't read it to your kids! And if you're a kid, do NOT read this to your parents! There is a pairing with a known character but I won't spoil it for you._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	2. Potter's Progress

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 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. A strange, misdirected letter arrives and Harry walks to Much Wittering to re-deliver it. There he meets the mysterious Granny Tremble and little Anna who looks very much like the fictional character in Dudley's picture book. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 2**

 **Potter's Progress**

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Seeing the Light

"Are you real, Anna?" said Harry. "Or is this happening inside my head?"

The girl laughed, and her braids swung. "No, of course not."

The boy's puzzled frown deepened. She took his hand and led him through a doorway into a sunroom extending out onto a vast wilderness garden where he'd been expecting a row of houses – he was sure he'd seen them there from the front path. Anna conjured stepping stones through the thickest grasses and widest pools towards a pagoda. Harry didn't think it the slightest bit unusual for a child of his own age to achieve this with a wave of her hands.

"I do my best thinking here," she said, gesturing for him to sit with her at a little table piled with books and boxes and a lady's shabby wristwatch that looked very old, "and I have so much to tell you."

For the next few hours Anna provided him with fascinating details of a hidden magical community that normal people could not see. He learned he was famous because he'd survived an attack by a very bad wizard who'd also murdered his parents. Everyone would recognise him because of the scar on his forehead.

"If you wish it, I'll teach you as much as I can about magic this year, but when you are eleven you'll receive a letter like the one you brought me inviting you to Hogwarts – then you must decide."

"Decide what, Anna?"

"Whether to attend or not."

"But I _want_ to learn!" With difficulty, he picked up the heaviest of the books on the table to emphasise how eager he was. "I'd like to go to a school of magic!"

"Even if the despicable scoundrel who abandoned you to suffer the Dursleys' abuse is its headmaster?"

The great book fell with a crash from Harry's limp fingers back onto the table top. A lid came off one of the boxes but inside there were only what looked like fireworks spitting and sparking.

"Sorry..." He fumbled the lid back onto the box. There was an extra fizzle of sparkles so he pressed the lid on tight to prevent their escape.

When he spoke again, his voice was a faint whisper. There was melancholy in its tone and a trace of something else: anger. "Why did a head teacher leave me with... _them?"_

Anna seemed to be gazing at a picture far, far away. "Albus Dumbledore is powerful and clever but inconsiderate and forgetful of those under his care."

"You've seen him?"

"I... I used to play with his sister when... when she was... almost our age."

"When she was... almost our age," echoed Harry, trying to work out what she meant. "Won't he let you play with her anymore?"

"Ariana Dumbledore died of his neglect, and now he's deserted you in the same way!"

Anna's eyes had flared... then faded. The nature of her expression seemed, to Harry, to be much older than her young face ought to carry, and the pigtails drooped now as if she needed rescuing from Villian Vaughn. Frightened, he jumped to his feet, mouth agape as he tried to comprehend. "Will I... will I die of negli... neg ... lec, Anna?"

"It means not caring, Harry. Not caring if someone's unhappy, or hungry, or... hurting. But _I_ care, Harry! I care! I'll help you grow strong!"

She lunged forward and squeezed her arms around him. He'd watched the monkeys do the same on television. They often cuddled each other but he hadn't been sure if people were supposed to. An ardent wish surged within the boy that if he were a monkey he might have been allowed to squeeze Anna back. He wished with all his might... The firework box burst open again.

"Oh, I have some wands for you to try," said Anna, releasing him at last to pull the box forward. "Try them to see which is best."

"Like the stick pictures in my spell book..." murmured Harry. There could be no doubt which to pick up first: a short, slender wand was jostling to keep on top and it was the one that had been glittering the most. When he took it, a new sensation was added to the warmth which Anna had bestowed upon him during her embrace. The delight was quite natural and flowed up his arm and into his chest where it settled comfortably as if intending to stay.

He already knew one swish by heart: "Lumos!"

A powerful radiance blazed forth, illuminating the garden brighter than the sunlight! Anna's face shone. And so did Harry's.

.

To Boldly Go

For the rest of the morning, Anna helped Harry to grasp his basic magic. She explained how the wand enhanced the strength and direction of his spells but he should use fingers and thinkers magic when not in her secret house and garden. "The Ministry won't like you using a wand unless you're seventeen," she explained, then, when she saw his expression of disappointment, added with a wink, "but they'll know nothing of anyone using charmed objects and potions. Even Squibs perform a great deal of magic that way."

After lunch she introduced him to the many books she'd provided, and began enhancing his reading ability. It was a labour of love because Harry was entranced by what he was learning, and greatly enjoying Anna's company. A bubble of contentment surrounded him – a bubble about to pop: "What time do you need to return home, Harry?"

He blinked. "Home?" Privet Drive had been forgotten, but now it cut into his thoughts like a reopened wound. "Can't I stay longer?"

"You can come as often as you like, but today you should return, else your relatives might alert the authorities."

"They don't care if I never go back," Harry said sullenly. "They hate me."

"Harry, you are seven now," said Anna. "The time has arrived for you to begin asserting yourself. Tell them you have made a friend and will be out visiting for the rest of the summer. Protect yourself. Do not waver before evil."

The little girl took the lady's wristwatch from the table and gave it to the boy. "Wear this at all times and it should repulse most physical attacks. You can also turn the third hand to four o'clock on the dial and it will always take you safely home else return you whence you came. John Harrison crafted this for me in 1767 and it has never let me down."

"A really, really long time ago..." Harry mused as he fiddled with the winder. He looked up, confused as he absorbed what she'd said. "You can't be so old ... can you?"

"That, Harry, is a story for another time," said Anna, as Harry vanished.

.

Ultimatum

By the end of summer, Harry had long forgotten that Anna might not _always_ be seven years old. He'd learnt so much from her that his life had changed dramatically. A new resolve possessed him. He tried to stand tall like Courageous Kevin and found that the Dursleys could then be easily pushed about – and hurt if need be.

"I am NOT a freak, uncle! My name is Harry Potter and I am a wizard!"

Vernon Dursley rose from his steak and potatoes like a whale emerging from the sea, spluttering tomato sauce and dribbling gravy down his chin. "What! What did you say? I'll teach you to answer me back!"

He stormed around the kitchen table to where Harry was setting himself a place. Alarmed, Harry dropped the cutlery he was arranging, and his arms rose defensively in front of him. "STOP!"

Vernon did so, freezing in mid-waddle as if set in ice – before gravity and his own impetus took over and he fell forward onto his face.

CRUNCH!

Red goo trickled across Aunt Petunia's highly-polished floor, but it wasn't ketchup.

Aunt Petunia shrieked with astonished fury but became petrified on a single note mid-squeal. Harry had to cast a silencing charm to cover the noise which was worse than a steaming kettle with a jammed whistle.

Dudley, meanwhile, was already stiff with fear and didn't need Harry to curse him at all.

With his pushing magic, Harry rolled Uncle Vernon over onto his back. The man's eyes were watering from the vinegar in the cuts of his broken nose, but they weren't glaring with hate: stark terror is what they displayed. In fact, the eyes of all three Dursleys flickered around in shock at one another's plight, then back to Harry.

"None of you must hurt me ever again," said Harry, "or I'll... I'll... _codfishskate_ you!"

.

The New World

The spells wore off overnight. Vernon had already left for work by the time Harry had crawled out from his cupboard. "Aunt Petunia, I'll be gone for a week this time."

Fear still haunted her eyes, but malice glinted there too: "They'll come for you," she said with a crooked smirk she'd been trying to hide, "if you don't go back to school on Monday."

School! The young boy was far too occupied with learning, to waste time on school! "Anna's taken care of it. She made them forget about me."

He twisted the winder on his watch and smiled at his aunt's defeated expression as he disappeared.

A shock awaited him when he arrived at the Trembles' home.

"Who are...? Where's Anna?" he said.

"She's still here," said the fair young woman who came to greet him. "Call me... Miss Tremble. Today I'll be introducing you to the wizarding world, so first..."

The prim young lady began a chant. A new shoot sprang forth from amidst the foliage, quickly growing into short rods of mature wood beautifully twined as one. Miss Tremble pulled it free. "Here, this will grow with you and make a much better gripping staff for you, Harry. If you tire, it will always be the ideal height for use as a crutch. See – there's a vine strap too, so you can hang it over your shoulder like a bow."

As he was trying it out, she leaned over and, with the tip of her wand, painted new flesh over his scar. You don't want to be bothered by people staring at you, do you? Now what shall we pretend is your name?"

"Kevin!" cried Harry, cottoning on immediately to her playacting, after all, he'd seen children at school playing lots of times. "I'll be Courageous Kevin!"

"Very well then, Kevin." She held out her hand for him to take. "Come."

With only a glance towards the windows of the magical house to see if Anna might wave, he took Miss Tremble's hand then felt himself swept away through darkness to a much, much busier road than the private path.

"This is Charing Cross in London. Will you remember that, Kevin?"

"Charing Cross..." he murmured with a nod.

"Good. And this... this is the Leaky Cauldron."

She led him through quickly and he followed the pattern of her fingers as they danced upon the bricks in the backyard. "Welcome... to Diagon Alley."

He gasped and gripped her fingers more tightly. Hundreds of people, many of them children, were milling about, and most of them were dressed in robes and other old-fashioned attire. Shops of every kind lined the cobbled street with curious equipment and food and the strangest of creatures on display.

"And everyone... all these children as well... they're all magical, like me?"

"Indeed they are,"said Miss Tremble. "They are mostly shopping for school supplies. I already have more than sufficient for your own requirements, Kevin, but you need to see where everything is."

Blazing with excitement and gratitude he thanked her, noting how pretty her smile was, and how much, he now realised, she resembled little Anna. "I wish she could have come with us..." he murmured.

"Oh, she's never far away, Kevin. Oh, look, broomsticks! You ought to learn to fly."

They gazed in at the shop window, Harry rubbing his back pocket to gauge how many twenty and fifty pound notes he had left. "What's a Galleon worth in real money?"

"Come, I'll show you where you can change some of your Muggle currency at the wizarding bank. When you're eleven you should receive the key to your parents' vault, but for now..."

"The bank won't give me my key now?"

"The bank don't have your key. Dumbledore stole it when you were a baby. The meddlesome fool should have given it to your legal guardians but he knew what nasty people they were and not to be trusted."

"He knew..." muttered Harry. "He gave me away to them and he knew..."

Harry squealed when he saw his first goblin, but quietened down when he saw how many golden Galleons were in the pouch he'd been given at the bank in exchange for his bank notes. Miss Tremble advised him not to squander it, but that was difficult considering the range of interest on offer in the shops. The broomstick was a must, of course, plus a Mokeskin sheath to hide and protect his wand from ne'er-do-wells as Miss Tremble called them. Most of his spending went on a flat hip bag that blended with his clothing and felt really comfortable considering there seemed to be no limit to how much it could hold without even being lumpy. Miss Tremble herself spent quite some time buying exotic potion ingredients, explaining she still practised alchemy and was hopeful of making a poultice to draw the curse out of Harry's scar.

With words of caution, they briefly visited Knockturn Alley, travelled to the Ministry, and even Platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station. Finally, Miss Tremble took Harry to St. Mungo's where a Healer was shocked on examining the accumulation of scars on Harry's feet.

The man explained, "All the tissue damage is healed, but the feet are slightly malformed because the bones were left to regrow without being properly reset. The only solution would be to vanish the bones and grow them anew. That will take a day or two here in the hospital."

"But there's so much I want to do!" cried Harry.

"Are you in pain, Kevin?"

Harry shook his head. "They just feel... uncomfortable when I walk a long time, especially the right one which aches a bit sometimes."

The Healer looked at Miss Tremble. "It's up to you. He can come at a more convenient time for them to be fixed."

Her heart yielded to Harry's pleadings, and it was agreed a few weeks or months would not matter.

They departed St. Mungo's and soon completed the tour of significant Magical locations. The boy was now much better informed and prepared, and they rounded the entire trip off by returning home on the Knight Bus.

.

Banishing A Demon

When September arrived, the boy began further tuition in the three R's and other 'life skills' as Anna described them, but most of his time was spent learning and practising magic. With Anna there was more fun, while Miss Tremble taught him more serious aspects of magical life, but it was Granny who introduced him to the occult and esoteric arts. When he played on his own it was usually because Granny was in her basement carrying out a ritual or experimenting with new ingredient combinations.

Often Harry would sit on a stool and observe as she drew out a runic circle on the great stone slabs that formed the foundation of the strange residence. He was pleased to note she never summoned anything wicked, but seemed to draw wisdom and knowledge from its centre. Often a cauldron simmered and bubbled there, steeping and refining Granny's latest concoction with bewitchments too mysterious for Harry to comprehend. Other times she'd ask the boy himself to sit within, while metallic devices, great and small, hovered about his head.

December was jostling November's end before Granny was satisfied. From her best silver cauldron she drew out a dripping cloth which she left to hover while it dried. Once stiff and grey, flying scissors snipped and cut the fabric into seven small squares on each of which a swan's quill drew a vivid red rune. Not once did Granny touch the pieces; scissors and quill were vanished the moment they had accomplished their tasks; her wand kept its distance as she rotated the squares against each other to form a star. A common bandage was employed to hold the bewitched array against Harry's scar, with a warning not to disturb what lies within 'till the curse be lifted'.

Very infrequently now did Harry return to Privet Drive, and he certainly had no wish to visit over Christmas despite the fact he could, if he wished, take all Dudley's presents for himself and banish every Dursley to the cellar steps to be trapped by the fear barrier while he watched TV.

The bandage became grubbier and grubbier week by week. By New Year it was itching and tingling rather badly, but Granny insisted he used no cleansing spells in case he also drew out any active ingredients.

"Why's it taking so long?" he grumbled on a particularly bad day.

"If I summon the curse too quickly it will react defensively and cause you terrible pain. This way, it doesn't even notice itself being quietly transferred."

Snow fell at the end of January and, as he cast a warming spell while exploring the garden's new appearance, he scorched the earth at his feet and melted a large area of snow about him.

Granny, who had been watching him closely for the last week, was startled. "Quickly, Harry, come with me."

As they hurried inside and down to the lowest foundations, she gasped breathlessly, "Your magic ... no longer being drained. You'll need ... reduce ... power ... in casting, Harry."

He stared at his fingertips. "All I did was..."

"You ... didn't use ... your wand?" She stopped to catch her breath halfway down the steps and began to cough.

"Not just for a light warming bubble, no, I – Granny! Are you sick?"

She waved him off and slowly continued her descent, pointing ahead to two bottles on a shelf on the far side of the underground chamber. "Please, Harry... a single drop."

He rushed onward to hold up the leftmost of the bottles. She waved him to his right. "This one?" he said anxiously.

She nodded, clutching the back of a wooden chair to support herself. "No more ... than a spot ... remember..."

He found a tiny pipette and dipped into the vial. When he turned, the old woman had sagged down onto the chair, looking very, very old.

"Granny!"

Carefully he touched her outstretched tongue with the end of the dropper. She swallowed. Coughed a little more, then breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. Let's take a look under that bandage."

As she unwound it, Harry noticed a small round table had already been placed within the runic circle drawn on the slabs at their feet. On the table stood a large jar of yellowed ripple glass. The runes had been changed today, and looked rather familiar. "Are they the same as – Ow!" cried Harry, rubbing his forehead.

Granny had swiftly pulled away the star poultice and flung it at the jar. "It may sting for a while."

But Harry's attention was now focused entirely on the glass container. "What _is_ that... _thing?"_ For a small creature, like a malformed baby, red and raw, was squirming and whimpering within the glass.

"That vessel, Harry, has become what is known as a Horcrux or soul jar. They take many forms but this one I designed to display a representation of the soul it has captured. Here we have a torn soul, a divided and tormented one."

"That... _thing_ was inside my scar?"

Granny shook her head. "A soul is not physical, Harry, so it cannot have a physical location, size, or appearance. What you see here is only a... our impression of it."

"But it does have a place in the jar, doesn't it, Granny?"

"Harry, remember our simplest revisions: what is one plus one?"

"But... why, it's two of course. One and one is two."

"And _where_ is it? Where is that arithmetic? And what is its physical size?"

For a few moments, Harry stopped staring at the creature to frown at the woman. It seemed to him that she did not look quite so old and frail anymore, nor anywhere near so wrinkly as earlier. "Where...?" He shook his head, unable to answer.

"Arithmetic is not physical so it has no physical size or location. Yet, look..." She floated the bottle to the shelf again, beside its twin.

He went over to make sure he understood. "One bottle plus one bottle is...two." He paused. Close up he could see that both bottles were almost empty.

"Stay back, Harry."

He turned as the walls suddenly blazed with yellow light. Tiny beasts of fire were expanding out of Granny's wand, the tip of which she had stretched into the runic circle. The flames snarled and swirled within the trap, consuming what they could before finally dying out.

Harry tried to rub away the bright spots that danced before his eyes. "It's gone! Even the table! All burnt to nothing!"

She watched him thinking it through.

"It was him, wasn't it? The one you told me about. The one who killed my parents!"

.

Granny's Secret

She vanished the remaining dust and asked Harry to sit with her upon a nearby bench which was still slightly smoking with warmth. "A part of the Dark Lord was lodged within you, Harry. I was ever reluctant to reveal my greatest secret until the vile thing was destroyed."

"I already know your secret, Granny," Harry said solemnly, glancing towards the two bottles on the shelf. "You're sometimes Anna aren't you? And Miss Tremble too?"

She nodded. "But that's not the whole story. "While still extremely young, less than fifty actually, I achieved the culmination of all my alchemical research. I unintentionally produced a potion imbued with life itself. It kept me as young as I wished and seemingly forever. So potent was the magic that I refused to speak of it until I could find a way to safely share it with all wizardkind. I never abandoned that hope until, after centuries of lonely vigil, a gentleman, noticing my longevity, beguiled me with a kiss. Assisted by another powerful accomplice, he took my creation for himself. Together, they rewrote history books proclaiming themselves above all others, while I was left destitute and with what little of the elixir I had already bottled."

"Can't you make more, Granny?"

She shook her head. "I have tried in vain. The original had only been made effective by fate's blessing, and that tiny, unknown contamination was never known to anyone."

"But the gentleman...?"

"He can produce more potion from the original source but cannot duplicate that creation." She sighed. "He'd said he loved me but afterwards I discovered he was already married. To prevent my retrieving the artifact, their home was concealed by the wicked conspirator under an unassailable charm. This accomplice refused to reveal their whereabouts to me even when I begged him for justice."

Harry's magic flared and he stamped his foot angrily. "I know all about wicked 'complices, Granny! Villian Vaughn used them a lot! Who was he, Granny? Who was the despicable 'complice that buried your–"

"–A vile sorcerer of enormous power who resides in a fortress! It was the headmaster, the great Albus Dumbledore himself, who destined my life to end."

.

Ever Broken

Over the following months, Granny explained how, with no hope of directly finding the man who'd robbed her, she'd tried to unearth everything that was to be learned about his dastardly co-conspirator, Albus Dumbledore.

"And that's how, last year, I discovered exactly where he'd made you his brutalised captive: with your repulsive aunt and uncle in Little Whinging! I made it my business to rescue you if I could, but the protections he'd cast about your home made it impossible for me to enter with such intentions in my head. Always some obstacle blocked my plans. The cursed wards shielded you even on your travels around the village and at school. On many occasions I tried to approach you but was thwarted. An accident, a diversion, even illnesses, all befell me out of the blue. The protective ward and its conjurations are amongst the most powerful magics I have ever experienced."

Granny rubbed her arm as if to ease an old wound there. "I had but one recourse: to draw you to me of your own free will, and with no intent on my part to forcibly keep you. My last resources were spent on buying this empty plot upon which my enchantments grew this sanctuary. There were but a few months remaining until your seventh birthday at which time a child's magic often steps up in intensity and increasing calamities burst out of them."

The old lady's eyes were alight now with excitement, and Harry could not help thinking she was unburdening to him knowledge and experiences she'd never been free to relate to anyone before during her long life.

"I still treasured my original Hogwarts letter, having preserved it with a charm. I crafted a new envelope addressed to this safe refuge. Neither the Muggle postman nor your Muggle relatives would ever be able to discover its whereabouts. To make sure it reached you personally, I bewitched the seal to influence its redirection. After that, my plan relied entirely on the goodness of your heart; I was not disappointed."

An ancient, primatial urge to embrace his loving mentor compelled Harry to reach out blindly, and Granny gently took the damaged child in her arms. She could not tell him then how little time they had left together, and the difficulties that surely lay ahead for Harry Potter, the boy who was broken.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Harry will harden quickly as life gets tougher. Yet there will be bright periods during the trials of growing old quickly, and new friends to support him._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	3. Learning The Hard Way

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. A strange, misdirected letter arrives and Harry walks to Much Wittering to re-deliver it. There he meets the mysterious Granny Tremble, Miss Anne Tremble, and little Anna who looks very much like the fictional character in Dudley's picture book. They begin teaching him to control his magic and prepare him for what lies ahead. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 3**

 **Learning The Hard Way**

* * *

.

Hopscotch

The spring of 1988 was full of promise for Harry. With the aid of the 'Trembles' he had not only become quite proficient at many basic charms and common spells, but also started on potion knowledge, ritualistic magic, and most importantly, learning about the affairs of the magical community both current and recent-historical. Sometimes he even thought Anna pushed knowledge straight into his mind because his magic progressed so rapidly. Piles of books and Daily Prophets surrounded him where he sat in the gazebo, improving his reading abilities and absorbing details of events old and new.

Anna joined him with a tray of apple juice and lemon fairy cakes. As they refreshed themselves, they gazed at the new shoots bursting forth in the garden and the increased greenery that the warmer weather was encouraging.

"I thought we might play Hopscotch after our snacks," said Anna, munching happily on the icing from her little cupcake which she'd saved till last.

"I know that one! I've seen it played at school only they wouldn't let... I mean, I've not actually played myself."

With a final biscuit in her mouth, Anna licked her fingers as she skipped happily over to one of the main paths and conjured a pattern of numbered squares on the ground. Harry followed slowly after her, a puzzled look on his face. "Your squares are too far apart, Hannah. Nobody can hop that far." He looked around. "And we'll need some small stones."

"This is magical Hopscotch, Harry. You have to conjure your own stones and hover each one into position."

Harry grinned. "I can do that!" He did so, floating his stone neatly onto the first square, almost in the centre. "It's still too far to hop, though."

"Use your magic, Harry. Concentrate on the destination and be determined to reach it. Remember you told me you once finished up on a roof when some kids were chasing you at school?"

"I didn't intend to! I was just desperate to escape."

"It was still _your_ magic, nobody else's. All you need is to do it deliberately and push."

Harry strained on the start line for a while before becoming frustrated. "Show me."

"It won't help. You have to do this yourself – that's essential. Think about how much you need to do this. _Feel_ how important _moving_ is. _Remember_ how scared you were."

For a while he remained silent, staring at the number '1' drawn on the first square. Anna could see his hands flexing and knew he was pushing with his mind.

He was already there! He looked around in confusion. There'd been the tiniest popping noise but no sense of movement other than perhaps a flash of darkness so brief he wasn't sure. "I'm on it? I thought it would be like a... hop?"

"Now back again, then try Square Two which is further and you must reach it directly, not in separate hops."

And so he progressed. Only when he could magically hop directly to Square Ten was Anna satisfied. "It's called Apparition, Harry. You can do it to anywhere you can see or anywhere you've been before, but don't let anyone spot you because it's illegal until you're seventeen!"

"I like it! My feet don't even ache!" exulted Harry, who had quite forgotten his crutch leaning against his seat in the gazebo. "Is that how I got on that roof? So I can fly onto the pavilion roof?"

"Yes but best you don't hop blind. There are all sort of ways to do that particular magic, including flying on a broomstick. But an easier way might be... let's see, try casting a hover charm on your wristwatch."

Harry was soon hanging awkwardly from one arm. After a little experimenting, Anna provided some fabric wrist and ankle bands for him to try, and soon he was floating evenly and could scramble up onto the roof of the pagoda with almost no effort. "Whooo!"

"Careful, Harry."

There was insufficient control to truly fly free, but the agile boy quickly clambered down without risk. For the first time in his life, he felt... FREEEEE!

.

Mixed Up

Also forgotten was the intention to return to St. Mungo's to have Harry's feet completely healed. Without at first realising it, Harry found himself driven harder and harder by all three Trembles, especially Granny, who he saw more of, as spring gave way to a new summer.

"Disappointed, Harry?" said Granny, on seeing his expression as he arrived for another week of instruction down in the basement. "Hoping for teach-play with Anna instead?"

Ashamed that his partiality for fun was so transparent, Harry hung his head. "I do love you, Granny..."

"But...?"

His cheeks flushed and he searched his heart. "No. No buts..." He rushed into her arms and they held each other for quite a while as she stroked his hair. Harry could sense something special was about to be announced. The little boy was almost eight now; he clung to her even more fiercely.

"There's not much time left, Harry, and so much more I wish to teach you..."

He frowned as she pulled away from him. He followed her across the chamber. "Not much time?" he said. "But you said I only needed to stay at the Dursleys for a few weeks!"

"Let's look in my desk; you're ready."

Heaps of notes and documents and books lay under the lid. "Some of this is reference work too advanced for you at the moment, but in a few years–"

"–you'll teach me them, won't you, Granny? What are those? My name's on it!"

She looked at him strangely then, and when she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse with emotion. "They're the deeds to this property. This is your house now, but for the time being you must regard Privet Drive as your actual home else Dumbledore will become suspicious and hunt you down."

"When I'm grown up, you mean? This will become my house?" His eyes widened with excitement. "A whole house!"

"No, Harry, it's yours _now_."

He laughed then for a while, until he realised Granny was serious. "But why? You and Anna and Miss Tremble will still live here, won't you?"

"Harry, our time is almost run out. Perhaps a few months remain."

His voice rose in pitch. "You can't be leaving me here alone?"

She led him to the shelf with the two elixir bottles. One had been cut in half across the middle to retrieve the tiniest residue and now was utterly dry. The other looked empty too except for a glistening at the bottom. Harry stared and shook his head, refusing to accept what he saw. He knew what it meant but his mind was trying to block the feeling of emptiness that clawed at his stomach. He sniffled. "I wish I could've said goodbye to little Anna and Miss Tremble..."

"Harry, you know they're all... me."

He struggled inwardly; she could see it. "Sorry Granny, I keep forgetting. I get mixed up sometimes."

With an inward sigh, Granny looked to the calendar on the wall, then back to stare at the final remnant in the last bottle. "Perhaps you may see Anna once more, yes, perhaps you may..."

She went back to the books, and Harry let her be. Occasionally he saw the old lady trace out a new rune with her wand around the centre circle. Days passed in this manner. Sometime he caught her asleep at the desk. Her eyes grew dark. She looked very old now, Harry thought. His eighth birthday passed without celebration. Still the old lady worked.

Only occasionally did Harry disturb her. "What happens when you...?"

"When you die? We go on to the next great adventure, of course." She considered her answer more carefully for a while. "It is my belief _that_ future experience is shaped by our behaviour in _this_ world, Harry." She grinned, and he noticed most of her teeth were now missing, and when she spoke, the voice rasped softly. "In my case it might take much longer for me to be sorted!" The old lady cackled. "Yes, over six hundred years to weigh in the balance. Who knows? Perhaps I'll have time to send back a whisper of encouragement to you, Harry, before I go on!"

"Please do. Please try, Granny, if you can."

She continued her work for many more days, looking wearier and more shrivelled as they passed. Finally she pronounced herself satisfied and that Harry might enjoy Anna's company for the remainder of the summer. She watched him whoop with joy and smiled.

"I think you should watch that which you've known for so long but not... experienced."

She thought for a moment, then, "Would you fetch me a fairy cake from the kitchen please, Harry. Have one yourself if you wish."

Eager to be active and of help, he dashed up the steps. On his return, he saw Granny was cutting through the final bottle with her wand. She took the little cake from him and broke off a small piece of sponge, using it to soak up every last drop of the elixir. Pausing only for a little prayer, she popped it in her mouth.

Harry smiled as the careworn wrinkles in her face smoothed out. He gasped as she unbent and grew a little taller. His jaw dropped as Miss Tremble smiled at him briefly before shrinking down to his own size. Little Anna stood there, swathed in robes too large for her, and grinning at his expression. "Let's play!" she cried.

.

Only Dust

Anna's company and instructional play kept Harry in good spirits through August and, like all happy youngsters living in the moment, he'd forgotten the dark days that lay ahead as autumn approached.

"You're too big for hopscotch this week!" laughed Harry, as once again, he outperformed the now nearly-teen.

She applauded his efforts and led him indoors for 'an important talk'. "You'll need to make many decisions, Harry. There's little food left in the larder. Will you spend more time with the Dursleys now they're no longer a threat? And return to day school until you're eleven? Remember everything I've taught you and keep on learning from my books and notes. Practise too, don't forget!"

Harry stopped at the top of the basement stair, watching her descend before him. Anna seemed to grow taller with almost every step while his own heart began sinking with the realisation of what she was implying. He scurried after her to the foundations, then looked up to study her expression. The girl was a true teenager now with a more serious look about her. She reached down for his hands. "Say your farewells quickly, Harry, while I'm still here."

Courage deserted him and he began shaking. "G–Goodbye, Anna. I love you more than everything." A single sob escaped him but he managed to suppress any further weakness so he could gaze at her face as it gently morphed into that of a young woman.

Miss Tremble released him then and stepped into the runic circle she'd been preparing for this occasion. "Be brave, young Harry, be brave for Anna and me."

"I will, I promise." He couldn't believe this was happening.

Kneeling down, Miss Tremble began an incantation, "Let my dust be scattered midst growing things. Let my spirit fly free and my heart remain with... Harry Potter."

The end was swift. The boy briefly glimpsed Granny smiling at him, then what remained collapsed into common particles as dull and ordinary as soil. Harry Potter's only companion – the sole source of comfort and happiness he'd ever known – was no more.

.

The Raid

Broken again, _Boy_ forgot himself, who he was, and what he might be. He'd cast Miss Tremble's dust about the dying garden and the living home. Days were spent in solitude at the magical house. He cried often. Why was life so empty? Friendless, he was nothing and nobody. _Do not seek friends,_ oft whispered her voice in his mind. _Seek to BE a friend._

"You can't _get_ friendship," he recited to himself, hoping for comfort in speaking Miss Tremble's words aloud. "You can only _give_ it."

A dry laugh escaped his lips as he recalled his response at that time: "But Miss Tremble, if I _give_ friendship, doesn't that mean someone gets it?" and she had gently explained how _receiving_ is mortal and only a temporary appearance while _giving_ is eternal and forever real. A bitter admonition to understand for a young child mourning a grievous loss.

Leaving his staff behind, he took to the streets, easily avoiding any threat or authority by magically hopping and hiding. A hungry mongrel he fed with a meat pie summoned from the stout butcher who'd thrown a dirty stick and washed his hands of it. Wittering was completely unlike Whinging. The small town was far older, with a run-down high street and drab tenements. At night, older kids roamed the worst areas, thieving and picking fights.

"What you got, runt?"

"Nothing. I'm nobody."

'Nobody' got legged over but his back pocket was already empty and his wand well hid by Mokeskin. He'd slightly grazed his knee and wished he'd cast a cushioning charm first. He could easily have retaliated but what was the point? They'd moved on to the corner and started an argument amongst themselves. The boy who'd tripped him was clutching his stomach; _Boy_ was sure Anna's magical watch on his wrist was responsible – and for there being no follow-through from those louts.

"You alright?"

"Fine." He looked up into the glare of a streetlight. It had been an older girl's voice but he could make out nothing from her silhouette except the swing of a heavy jacket.

"Take no notice o' them arsewipes. They're from over the canal. Get a kicking if they hang 'bout our side much longer. OY, FEVVER!"

 _Boy_ was astonished she was calling out so fearlessly. His surprise left him when more kids came out of the shadows of a nearby alley: seven or eight of them.

"What?"

"Give 'im summink to eat."

"Why?"

"'Cos I fuckin' said so!" She reached down, hooked one hand under _Boy's_ arm and yanked him to his feet. "Anybody waitin' fer yer?"

He frowned.

"At home? Or are yer a runner?"

"Runaway, yeah, but nobody cares."

"Can yer climb?"

Now he could see properly, he sized her up. Heavy makeup and metal in her eyebrow just below spiky, bunched hair dyed straw with dark streaks.

"Got yer fuckin' eyes full?" she spat. "I asked yer a fuckin' question."

"Yes, I can climb."

"Right." She made a gesture to someone out of his sight.

Half a cold pasty was shoved into his hand. Famished, he bit into it eagerly. Tasted good. _Boy_ wolfed it down.

"Yer'll pay fer that 'cos you ain't Injun. Come on."

He was half-dragged round the corner, almost stumbling across mounds of rubbish and a broken skip on its side.

"See that grid up there? No, not that, the one about two floors up."

"Yes."

"Reckon you can shin up the pipe and suss it fer us?" Without waiting for an answer she shoved him forward and turned to the older boy at her side. "Fevver, giz 'im that cross-driver yer nicked."

"No good, Aggs. Prob'ly rivets."

She skimmed her hand across the back of his head and he winced. "Yer don' know tha' do yer! Tha's fer 'im to find out, innit?" She grabbed the screwdriver off Fevver and handed it to _Boy_. "Wosher name, kid?"

"Kevin."

Sniggers all round. "Up yer go then, Kev."

Kevin tucked the driver in his back pocket and eyed the thin plastic pipe which had been half-wrenched away by someone too heavy to climb up. Ignoring the damage, he leapt to the next lowest bracket, then wandlessly cast hover charms onto his wristbands before scrambling up the flimsy plastic pipe as easily as if it were lying on the ground.

"Way ter go, Kev! The other half-pasty if yer gerrit open!"

Fevver had been right; the grid was welded. Kevin looked down. Doubtful faces stared up, too far below to see him vanish the rivets and sling the grid safely to one side with another hover spell.

Someone whistled appreciatively.

"What now?" called Kevin in a loud whisper.

"Can yer gerrin? Lerr'us in the door?"

Cautiously he poked his head into the gap. He could tell his shoulders would jam so he murmured _Engorgio_ to make more room and scrabbled inside.

He Disillusioned himself for concealment just in case, found the stairs, and made his way down to discover a biggish mini-mart. The side door was heavily barred and locked but surrendered without a whimper to his vigorous Alohomora.

Incredulous faces stared right through his invisibility. He sidestepped out of sight to remove his concealment spell just as they began pouring in.

"Kid actually fuckin' did it!" said Fevver.

"Told yer. Nice going, Kev. ... Fevv, get the cams. ... Any red lights upstairs, Kev?"

"One in the corner."

She sucked in air. "But yer kept low, yeah?"

"Uuh, yeah. Out of sight anyway."

"Inf'red motion sensor. Reckon yer can bugger it up fer us? Yer'll need ter – hang on!"

But Kevin had almost flown upstairs and Confunded the apparatus before she could stop him.

.

Queen of the Injuns

"Yer an Injun now if yer want, Kev. Rules is stick up for each other no matter what and no raiding smalls apart from odds 'n sods," said Aggs.

"Smalls?"

"Small run-down shops on their last legs. If we did a full raid they'd be outa biz, yeah? The odd bun or bucket no prob – Injuns got principles," she added proudly.

He nodded.

"That mean yer in or what?"

"Yeah. What time?"

"Time?"

"What time does it start in the mornings?"

"We don't clock in yer great plonkhead! We're a proper outfit! Watch out fer each other, yeah? We all kip in a – look, I'll show yer where we sleep."

Turned out the Injuns were squatting in the disused loft of an old warehouse. It was littered with sleeping bags and a couple of soiled mattresses. After stashing the evening's plunder and eating some of it, most of the kids were shaking out their bags and kipping down.

"That's my corner, there, see?" said Aggs. "If we get done over I can get out on the roof and scarper across the allotments. But remember our rule to help each other because no other fucker will, right? Worrisit?"

"Help each other cos no other fucker will," recited Kevin.

"That's right, an' don' yer fergerrit!"

"Okay, Aggs."

"Call me Aggie if yer want."

She shivered suddenly and hugged her arms around herself. "Wanna share?"

"Share?"

"Well yer got no bag 'ave yer?"

"No, but you're a..."

"Right. It's a double zip bag on a foam block – luxury innit? Which side yer lay?"

"Erm..."

"N'er mind. Ger'in first. Hotch up a bit else I can't get my bum in."

He heard her zipping up the side of the bag. Felt her heat squashed against him.

"Wanna cuddle?"

"You mean... like the monkeys?"

"Yeah, like fuckin' monkeys. Get yer pants down then."

"What?"

"Ain't never seen monkeys in pants 'ave yer?"

"Er... no. But what about your boyfriend?"

"Which one? I've shagged most o' these. You can be my boyfriend now if yer like."

"Thank you."

"Okay, gerr'on top else I'll squash yer. Got them pants off yet? Right. That's it. Rub yerself agin me then. That's it. ... nice?"

"Yes."

"Good kid. Yer can feel me tits if yer want. Up to you. Hang on while I gerr'em out proper. Okay? Big in't they fer fifteen? Well, I'm nearer sixteen, not sure. Give it a bit more go then, Kev – that's it. Bit higher... Whoa, super! Keep going! How'd you do that?"

"Erm... do you believe in magic?"

"I fuckin' do now, Kev!"

"Aggie ... how long have you been... running away?"

"I ain't never run away, Kev. Born in this jungle, me."

"Like a fuckin' monkey?"

"Yeah, Kev, like a fuckin' monkey."

.

Roar of the Tiger

Months rolled by. Kevin was an Injun now, working the streets, learning to shield his fists and power them against any challenger. _Assert yourself,_ Anna had advised him, and _Do not waiver before evil._ Nobody in the Injuns questioned his right to be there, not now he was proving his worth again and again.

Nights in the winter should have been bitterly cold but somehow the warehouse loft kept warm – though Harry never revealed how he was using a warming charm to protect them all. He was amongst fellow Injuns, and being a friend to them. Miss Tremble had been right: he could _lose_ friends but he need never lose _being_ a friend. It wasn't an investment; it was worthwhile for its own sake.

He often returned for a few hours to the Wittering home that had been bequeathed him. Magic and lore he continued to learn and practise, and in Little Whinging, the Dursleys scarcely recognised the boy when he repeatedly returned to face them with increasing stature and confidence:

"You were foolish to mistreat the cub you were raising," he told his uncle. "By making it hate you, what did you expect would happen when it grew into a tiger?" And Vernon would tremble and wish that Harry hadn't cast a bewitchment binding him and his family to the house so they could not run away. He'd tried once but been driven back whimpering by a demonic phantom that only he could see.

"As punishment, you must ALL do the work around this house and be ready for the few days when I choose to visit or stay," ordered Harry. "In a few months I'll be ten and all Dudley's birthday gifts will be held for me till then."

He turned to his cousin who was cringing and eyeing the nearest door as a way of escape. "Dudley, clear out both of your bedrooms and prepare them for me. Lay out your toys and other possessions in the hall so I can decide which, if any, I wish to keep. You will sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, and if you harm a single spider I shall make you eat live slugs for a month!"

In a show of strength, Harry's staff cleft the kitchen table in twain with explosive force. A window pane cracked. Petunia screamed. Dudley ran for the door but it would not open for him. Vernon simply cowered on the floor wetting himself.

"Uncle, _you_ will now pick the aphids from the blades of grass in the lawn, and scrub each piece of gravel in the drive with a toothbrush as well as all the other horrible jobs I was being given by..."

Mrs Dursley had become hoarse from shrieking. His face slap was magical and so was the side-spin. "Aunt Petunia, as well as cleaning and polishing, you will cook and serve my meals before everyone else's. Watching television is forbidden to everyone but me – though _you_ will still pay the licence fee."

He stared at them with deep scepticism for a while, but could think of no redeeming features any of them had. "You've brought this on yourselves and you can thank your lucky stars it's not far worse. Even so, I've put a curse on each of you should there be any attempt to harm, deceive, or betray me. For five years you heaped suffering on me when I had done you no wrong. Now you will suffer for double that time, and you deserve it. Think about that during the years until I leave for good. YOU – DESERVE – IT!"

He stomped out, slamming the door behind him. The fractured glass pane fell from the window into the kitchen sink. Petunia jumped with fright before finally sinking down into a chair wondering what on earth she'd ever done to deserve this. Dumbledore had forced the boy on them; The Headmaster was the FREAK who ought to pay!

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I think I used the word 'pagoda' in the previous chapter, when I meant 'gazebo'. Don't think it matters too much because you can imagine it how you like. I visualise it like the gazebo in Sound of Music but without the glass, just open with a low wooden wall around, ten or twelve-sided with posts at every corner._

 _Next chapter: Harry becomes eleven so you know what that means, right? But the situation at Hogwarts will be nothing like you've read before, I promise you that. Probably anyway._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	4. Becoming Eleven

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. He meets Granny Tremble (in three forms) who teaches him to control his magic and the Dursleys. She also warns him about Dumbledore's manipulations. She dies, leaving Harry with a home but no money so even more broken. He hardens up by living mostly on the streets, thieving and fighting with a gang called the Injuns led by a punk called Aggie. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 4**

 **Becoming Eleven**

* * *

.

Heavens Opened

Another year passed by in Much Wittering. Aggie's hair was still straw but the spikes fad had passed by, leaving only the side bunches which Harry, as 'Kevin', liked to play with – they reminded him of Anna. Local police were now more pro-active on the streets. Fevver had taken charge of the Injuns when Aggie had resigned herself to weekend work in a pub kitchen on the wrong side of the canal. 'Kevin' himself had been muttering about leaving the gang.

More and more time he'd spent, under the influence of an ageing potion, researching at the Ministry for Magic. Dumbledore's tracks were everywhere: in documents, logbooks, orders, contracts – everywhere. How he hated the man. The growing youth still nursed an empty space in his heart for Granny, Miss Tremble, and of course, little Anna – though now he was almost eleven he understood better that they were one and the same. It was Dumbledore that had taken them from him. Dumbledore who had so carelessly despatched him into servitude and suffering with the Dursleys. Dumbledore! Dumbledore! Dumbledore! HE should be the one to suffer and die, not Miss Tremble! Not Anna and Granny.

He would use the killing curse on the tyrant if he could; many were the books on Dark Art that Granny had left him, and many more had he purchased in Knockturn Alley using converted cash pilfered in Wittering. Yet still his thirst for knowledge was not satiated. Should he attend Hogwarts or not? Granny had warned him about being under the Headmaster's control and his evil manipulations. But there'd be opportunities at the school: to advance his education, to study the enemy, to humiliate, to strike! Slowly, he drew his plans against the despot, and resolved never to stop until the man was begging and whimpering at his feet!

The month of July brought warm weather, and Harry settled himself in the lovely garden gazebo of the house in Wittering, dreaming of years gone by playing here with Anna. Deep he sank into reverie. Eyes tight shut he never noticed the darkening of the sky as clouds moved in. Only the voice in his head held Harry's attention: Miss Tremble's voice: _Why should that mean it's not real?_

He jerked up onto his feet, clutching at one of the struts at the side of the pavilion for support, and looking towards the house. _real..._

Rain, great heavy drops, had begun to fall. There was a flash of lightning and the heavens opened. The downpour drove him indoors, straining to hear a faint whisper obscured by the rolling thunderclaps: _real..._

Nerves tingling, he descended to the foundations of the living house. Miss Tremble's last runic circle was still there, just as he'd left it – but with a difference! Blinking rainwater out of his eyes, Harry stared. Had a bird become trapped down here? Certainly there was a fluttering. And... illumination.

While he dropped to his knees, a tiny winged creature was rising from hers. White robes in golden radiance, the fairy-angel smiled silently at Harry's astonishment. Her kindly eyes were Granny's, the prim face was Miss Tremble, her laughing expression could only be Anna.

Words tinkled like a bell in Harry's mind, _not ... yet ... sorted._

 _Miss Tremble..._ He had not spoken aloud yet she inclined her head in acknowledgement then flew gently up to rest on his shoulder.

 _I bring you little more than whispers of encouragement, Harry, yet you may call on me anytime until the deed is done._

Her expression changed a little when she observed his confusion, and she added, _My soul cannot rest till that which was taken is restored._

She flew up the winding stair, and Harry ran after her: _Wait, Miss Tremble!_

There was no reply. The sky was brightening. The rain had stopped though it continued to drip from the porch roof. The soaked garden began to glisten in the emerging sun yet Harry felt a darkness clutching at his heart. He was all alone again... broken.

.

Night of the Living Oaf

Dudley Dursley scowled as Harry cupped his hands to conjure candle flames. Once he had several burning brightly he cast them into the air while he surveyed the piles of gift-wrapped birthday presents loaded inside the bottom of Uncle Vernon's wardrobe. "Not a bad haul this year, Dud." Harry leaned over to scrutinise the corner of one whose wrapper was slightly torn. "Been trying to open them, have you?"

Dudley shook his head worriedly. "Couldn't. They're... froze by..."

"By magic. 'Magic' is the word you wanted to say, wasn't it, Dud? Magic, magic, freakin' magic! Anyway, they're not actually frozen. The correct term would be 'shielded' – protected from grubby fat fingers like yours. You're lucky I didn't put a curse on them." He glanced out the window at the streetlights turning on. The remains of a bonfire in the front garden still glowed slightly too.

"That parcel was ripped before you froze 'em! I never touched it!"

"Then how'd you know they were _frozen_ eh?"

"They're mine!"

"Not anymore they're not. Give me a quid and I'll let you watch me unwrap them tomorrow – but only if you wish me a proper 'Happy Birthday' and really mean it!" he added with a grin.

"What if there's any you don't want? What then?" A hopeful tone had crept into Dudley's voice, but it was soon crushed...

"Probably vanish them." Harry yawned. "Wouldn't want them to be wasted on an arsewipe like you, would I?"

"Beddy-byes, Popkin!" Mrs Dursley called up the stair.

Harry sniggered and looked at his watch. "Better run so your Mummy can dress you in your bunny pyjamas, _Ickle Dudleykins_. ... Me? Think I might check out that horror movie on Channel Four."

He headed out the door, pausing only to glance back inside at Dudley who was still eyeing his gifts. "Maybe I'll conjure up something spooky to join you in your cupboard, eh?" Harry ran off laughing.

Filled with anxiety, Dudley rushed out onto the landing and yelled down to him, "Yeah, you wait till you find out what's been going on!"

"DUDLEY!" shrieked Mrs Dursley, then backed off into the front room when she saw the flare in Harry's eyes.

"What? What's been going on?" He chased after her. "You might as well tell me else I'll rip it out of your mind, Aunt Petunia!"

"Letters!" she screamed. "And bloody birds! Thousands of them. Owls here, owls there! We've been plagued by them. We're sick of them and we're sick of–"

"–What letters, Aunt? Tell me!" He raised his staff threateningly.

"What do you think! You'll be eleven tomorrow!"

He blinked in puzzlement. "You mean Hogwarts, don't you? I expected a letter tomorrow, not today! That's why I'm here – to reply telling them I'M NOT BLOODY GOING!"

"The letters didn't only arrive today! We've been bombarded all week! Didn't you see all the droppings outside? Walls and gutter and fences and – all covered in owl sh–"

"–SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Why didn't you tell me! What have you done with them all?"

But Mrs Dursley had been struck dumb by Harry's thrust of magic and, unable to answer him, pointed through the window at the burnt ashes in the bonfire before she hastened out of the front room. Petunia found Vernon in the parlour, staring vacantly, unwilling or unable to become involved in any argument with Harry. Perhaps he'd been cursed, or perhaps he was just too cowed and broken by the extraordinary change in the lad.

Harry stomped into the kitchen, heated a can of soup with his fingers, slopped it into a plastic bowl on the kitchen table, and wished his stupid birthday could be over and done with. It was eleven-forty when he ordered the Dursleys up to bed so he could put his feet up and enjoy the movie on TV in peace. He waved an arm to draw the curtains shut then summoned a cool drink from the kitchen fridge which he pressed against his forehead.

Deep in thought, he was half-dozing through _Night of the Living Dead_ when a sudden explosion of sound jerked him to his feet. Cursing the noisy commercial break, he stared at the jeans sale being advertised on the box wondering who'd be stupid enough to dash out to buy jeans at this time of–

–He glanced at his watch just as another explosive bang shook the house. It was someone pounding on the front door with what sounded like a battering ram.

Cautiously he peered around the curtain. An enormous bearded man was raising a meaty fist the size of a ham to knock again on the door.

"Protego!" Harry hissed it low but kept his inner push high. Just in time. The house shook but the door held. Rushing around as quietly as he could he cast dozens of shields at doors and windows together with silencing spells, then went upstairs to peek out of his bedroom window. The crazy guy was still there looking puzzled. Harry blasted him with a Confundus charm through the glass but it was hard to tell if it was having any effect because the man already looked stupidly befuddled. Probably drunk.

Harry cast a few more protective spells, then went to bed.

.

The Wrong Sort

Mrs Dursley served breakfast the next morning, grumbling under her breath about the television being left on all night, and a strange man lurking down the street asking questions of anyone who passed. "Not the sort we want round here!" she huffed.

Dudley could be heard struggling to get out of his cupboard in response to the aroma of the fry-up.

Mr Dursley remained silent, staring forlornly at his fried egg and bacon. He gave them an unconvincing prod with his fork. Harry thought he looked a bit... peaky. The boy peered more closely... then dropped the fork with a nervous eek! when Petunia suddenly yelped, "He's coming up the path! A hairy monster! He can't be human!"

Harry was on his feet, casting more defensive spells. "Don't answer! He's a lunatic. In fact, call the police!"

His last cry was backed up with a compulsion charm which Vernon was glad to obey. The task revived and animated something of his former self, his outrage at anything that didn't fit his notion of decency. They could hear him jabbering away on the phone in the hall. "That's right, officer – think he's been sleeping rough in the street all night! Uncouth looking bloke and big, really big. Murderous look in his eyes. You know the type. Decent folk can't get any sleep for fear of – yes, that's right, 4 Privet Drive."

One car sirened into view within minutes. Harry cancelled his silencing charms so the police would be more easily drawn to the pounding on their front door. Through the window he saw a uniformed officer shaken off the giant's arm like a bug. "Yeh don' understan'. I's a pers'nl deliv'ry, see?" A letter was flapped high, almost wafting the other policeman off his feet. Wide-eyed with alarm, he made a dash for the car.

Then Harry wondered how he'd not made the connection before. "Hogwarts sent this weirdo?" What kind of school uses a deranged Godzilla to despatch mail by hand? How far had he come?

More sirens were arriving. Throngs of people were gathering across the street and peering over fences. Tasers crackled and plunged without effect. Above the racket of screams and shouts, a helicopter could be heard. A camera crew spilled out of a van that had just swept in from Magnolia Crescent then, just as suddenly, drove off looking confused. Robed figures had appeared waving sticks. Spectators began turning away, looking dazed. The helicopter veered away from the scene, and the police began to depart. Harry watched the giant subdued by flashes of red and purple and finally led away out of his view. There were cries of "What a mess!" and "There'll be hell to pay for this one!" then, as peace returned to Privet Drive, Harry went back to his place at the table to wonder what would follow.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" cried a bleary-eyed, pyjama'd Dudley from the doorway – quite heartily in the circumstances, Harry conceded.

"He'll send more," Petunia said quietly. "He'll never give in."

"Who?" frowned Harry.

"Dumbledore."

.

The Refusal

Harry was happily playing Tetris on his new Gameboy – with Dudley watching enviously – when the doorbell rang. He handed the Gameboy to Dudley and reached for his crutch. "Right! You all know what to do!" But just to make sure he cast more compulsion charms.

Mr and Mrs Dursley, who had been sitting stone-faced opposite him for the last two hours, stood up and their faces became strangely animated, as if they were rehearsing various expressions in readiness.

"Okay – to your positions, GO!" Harry hobbled towards the hearth and began polishing the brass coal tongs.

While Petunia went out to the hallway to open the door, Vernon followed only as far as the telephone which he picked up and began speaking in a low tone as if in conversation. A waft of warm air from the street flickered across his brow as the door was opened and he glanced over his wife's shoulder. Standing outside was a rather severe-looking woman wearing square glasses. Her black hair was drawn into a bun as tight as her smile.

"Mrs Dursley? I have Harry's Hogwarts letter for him. May I come in?"

"No," said Petunia, matching the woman's severe tone, "it's all agreed, he's going to Stonewall High." She closed the door and turned away.

The bell rang again.

"What?" snapped Mrs Dursley as she re-opened the door.

"As you should well know, Petunia, Harry's name has been down for Hogwarts ever since he was born. Let me speak to the boy." And she swept her way inside and headed directly for the soft musical beeps emanating from the front room. Vernon began dialling...

"Mr Potter! What _are_ you doing down there?"

Harry scowled, lifted up the coal tongs as if it were obvious, and didn't answer.

The woman sent a frazzling glare in Dudley's direction and the Gameboy went dead and silent. Dudley's jaw fell.

The intruder closed in on Harry. "Here's your letter. We've had some difficulty reaching you. I am Professor McGonagall and I shall – well take it then!" The letter she held out received another thrust forward, but Harry didn't move.

Mrs Dursley said, "I told you, he won't be going. In a civilised society, parents or guardians choose the school for children in their care."

"This is for Harry to decide. It's unthinkable that he–"

"–I don't want to go!" growled Harry in a low voice.

"There! _He_ doesn't want to go. _We_ don't want him to go. That's settled then. If you don't leave we'll call the police – VERNON!"

But Mr Dursley had already been informed that the police were on their way. He put down the phone and went to the front door to wait. A siren could soon be heard over the next row of houses.

McGonagall sighed and cast the letter towards Harry. "Mr Potter, we shall expect you on the first of September. Do not be late." With that she turned and vanished – simply disappeared into thin air as a police officer entered the room.

Dudley squeaked and dropped Harry's dead Gameboy. Petunia squealed and fell to her knees. The policewoman who'd barged into the room stared in disbelief. She examined the carpet as if hoping their might be a trapdoor hidden there, then, without a word, she turned on her heels and left.

"That went really well," said Harry, as the front door slammed and he tore up the Hogwarts letter.

.

Abducted!

September began normally for the Dursleys. Breakfast included toast and marmalade as usual. Lunch was spaghetti hoops. Dinner was unusual.

"Ah... we can do better." A man with waist-length silver hair and beard stood in the doorway. Half-moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose and he was wearing a long black travelling cloak and a pointed hat. "You missed your train, Harry."

"Now see here..." Vernon stopped rising from his chair, stopped what he was about to say, and stopped breathing. For what seemed a long time his face bloated out, flushing a horrible purple colour, then, as quickly as he had become frozen, he gasped in a great lungful of air, sank back down onto his chair, and prepared to eat as if nothing had happened.

Petunia simply stared, as did Dudley.

"That's much better," said the man. "Shall we, Harry?"

A few seconds passed before Harry could speak. "You're Dumbledore, aren't you?"

" _Professor_ Dumbledore, Harry, and, as your Headmaster, I must insist you accompany me to Hogwarts."

"You're kidnapping me?"

"Not at all," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "I am assisting you on your journey."

Harry reached for his staff and limped as awkwardly and slowly around the table as he could. "I'm not going to Hogwarts, if that's what you think."

"Harry, there is little time to discuss this. You would not be safe at a Muggle school. Come, take my arm. Those preparing to eat should not be kept waiting."

"No."

Harry had deliberately come close enough to give Dumbledore his opportunity – but not his own consent. The boy's shoulder was gripped and the scene vanished into blackness to be replaced by children – a large group wearing school robes – walking away from them.

"Follow them, Harry – we each must take our place." The abductor was gone.

Harry knew a lot about Hogwarts of course, but that had all been in his head. He looked about him. Grey stone walls and ceiling loomed above. Ancient wall torches flickered with light. He sighed and prepared to enter a completely new experience...

.

Sorted!

The Great Hall was exactly how Harry had pictured it from his extensive research. Even the method of sorting was known to him – although that tradition had been the most difficult information he'd had to uncover. Names were already being called as he took his seat behind the others. For a few moments he imagined he'd heard Anna's name and a glimpse of fair hair, but that reckless fantasy was soon dispelled.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

And so it went on, until...

"Potter, Harry."

Whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the Hall.

Harry took his time, fumbled his crutch then hobbled as heavily, painfully, and slowly as he could to lay it on thick. There were suppressed shrieks and cries as he almost stumbled over on the step down to where McGonagall waited.

"Where are your robes, Potter?" was her question as she lowered the hat over his head.

"Where's your heart, Professor?"

Her sharp intake of breath was smothered by a small voice in his ear. _Difficult. Very difficult. Intelligence and courage in equal measure, I'd say. Cautiously ambitious too: progress without undue risk... Now where shall I put you?_

 _No matter what,_ thought Harry, remembering Aggie's words to him when he'd been coerced into the _Injuns_

 _Trust and loyalty, eh?_ said the voice. _Well then..._

 _You don't get it, do you? I won't be here long, and I certainly don't want to be forced into another gang._

 _better be..._

Harry's fingers didn't even need to move to cast a tiny silencing charm. Nobody but Harry heard the Hat call out his house. Minutes passed. Then more. Harry himself pulled the Hat off.

"Mr Potter! Remain seated until you are Sorted."

"Hat says it can't sort me," he lied smoothly.

McGonagall turned to the Headmaster seated regally on his golden throne. Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows were knitted together.

"Perhaps another day?" suggested Harry. "When my inclinations are clearer?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Take your place at the Gryffindor table, Harry."

Harry didn't mind. He'd be long gone before he'd ever wear that stupid hat again.

He parked himself at the nearest edge, leaving clear space between himself and the other Gryffindors, not even acknowledging their cheers. Two or three others were sorted into this house soon after. They passed Harry rather uncertainly as they gravitated naturally to the applause and handshakes of the main group.

After a generous meal, he followed the rest up to their common room, avoiding conversation without seeming too rude. He was first into his dorm, and conjured a bed as far away from the others as possible but matching them in style. There was plenty of space for the extra bed, though he had no wardrobe, cupboard, or travel trunk as the other boys did; all he needed was in his near-limitless flatbag. He was too tired tonight so fell asleep quickly, wondering when he'd have his first chance to strike.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Roostertheking mused that in the last chapter, Aggie and Harry was a bit unbelievable. True, but remember, Harry used his pushing magic! Also, the reason he took to the streets was lack of money. You can't conjure food and he'd not want to spend too much time on his own or at the Dursleys. I suppose he could have stolen from them once a week but lived in his Wittering home, but basically, he was broken by the death of the Trembles and needed to get away. He also wanted to fill the emptiness within by BEING a friend to someone, as Miss Tremble had advised him. Basically, his emotional reaction to the Trembles' death was to get out and be active._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	5. Fitting In

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. He meets Granny Tremble (in three forms) who teaches him to control his magic. She also warns him of Dumbledore's manipulations. She dies, leaving Harry with a home but no money. He hardens up by living mostly on the streets, thieving and fighting with a gang called the Injuns. Aged eleven, he allows Dumbledore to abduct him to Hogwarts where he keeps his Sorting secret by Silencing the Hat. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 5**

 **Fitting In**

* * *

.

Needled

"Did you see his face?" Whispers followed Harry from the moment he limped down from his dormitory next morning. People in the corridors stood on tiptoe to get a look as he passed. "And that scar?" He wished they wouldn't and, though it was fainter than it had been years ago, he began to regret not masking over the mark on his forehead. There was pity too, so he slung his staff on its strap over one shoulder and tried to look cool.

Breakfast had such rich variety it couldn't be faulted, but not so the lessons of the week. Charms was basic theory he already knew, so his mind wandered. History was tedious but he listened carefully in case he heard anything significant. Transfiguration was like conjuration, but he did not wish to reveal his expertise at wandless magic nor what was hidden in the Mokeskin sheath on his forearm.

"Where's your wand, Potter?" said McGonagall.

"Don't have one."

"I gave you our list of requirements myself."

"But disregarded _my_ requirements, such as knowing how and where to buy one."

His remark was met with a stony silence. You could hear a needle drop. Just one.

"Students are expected to show respect, Potter. That will be five points from..." She hesitated.

"I don't have a house, Professor."

"Very well, but you ought to use your initiative in the future and ask."

"I was isolated entirely from all knowledge of magic then illegally abducted to this castle yesterday. Since I'm also penniless, it would take a heck of a lot of initiative for me to learn how and where to get my hands on a wand."

"You are trying my patience, Mr Potter. What have I said about–"

"–Might I lend him my wand, Professor? I've transformed my match."

Harry turned his head. A toothy girl with hair like a flayed mop was holding up her hand.

"Very well. Stay after class, Potter, and we'll see about arranging a visit to Diagon Alley this weekend."

Harry took the girl's wand and jabbed at his match, knocking it onto the floor.

"You're doing it all wrong, you know," said the girl.

She showed him the moves and he faked it not quite right.

The girl shook her head. "You're not flicking properly. Do what I do. See? Up and down..."

He got close but withheld his magic. A blond-haired Slytherin was sniggering and muttering something like _Squib_.

She sighed resignedly. "I suppose my wand doesn't suit. But it's good practice of the movements anyway until you get your own. You need to keep practising if you want to get on."

.

The Disruptor

Friday morning began Potions with a teacher called Snape. Harry might have guessed there'd be trouble because of the mutterings and dark whispers he could hear as they approached the classroom in the dungeon. However, he was eager to improve his knowledge and might as well learn what he could while he was here.

"Ah, yes," the teacher said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."

Instant dislike. Harry had been broken by years of such emotional abuse – but hardened on the streets of Wittering. He certainly would not tolerate any more mistreatment. He was here to learn and wished the teacher would just get on with it.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Well if _you_ don't know, why the fuck do you think _I_ might?"

Nobody moved. Not one millimetre. Except for jaws dropping.

"I will not stand for insolence, Potter! TWENTY points from Gryffindor!"

The dungeon-like room echoed with outbursts from astonished students. "But he's not _in_ Gryffindor!"

A gleeful sneer you could cut your throat on twisted Snape's face. "Ten _more_ points from Gryffindor. Seems you had supporters, Potter, but for how long? Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

"Well if it's up your arse then I ain't even gonna try."

"Detention, Potter! This evening."

"You can stuff your detention up with the bezoar."

Heads were swivelling back and forth like they were watching a tennis match.

"DOUBLE detention Saturday AND Sunday, Potter. I warn you, you're on _very_ thin ice."

"At least I ain't got a bezoar up my arse."

Snape froze for a moment. "Follow me, Potter. Let's see how you enjoy the Headmaster's company. Insolence and disrupting my class. You are very likely to be... expelled."

"I WISH!" cried Harry, staying firmly in his seat as Snape swept by. "And for your information, Snapeshit, it's _you_ that is disrupting _my_ class. I was hoping _you_ would be teaching _me_ not the other way round."

Fury blazed in Snape's eyes. He strode back to drag Harry by the arm. The man's hand exploded and he was thrown backwards screaming and writhing on the stone floor.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that I'm cursed? Seems a certain Dark Lord leaving his mark did me a favour. He was a stupid po-faced maggot just like you."

Harry gazed at his enchanted wristwatch affectionately; it had protected him well. And Snape had taught him something after all: Detention trumps house points. Expulsion trumps detention. His imprisonment by Dumbledore trumped expulsion. Should Harry be wrong, and Dumbledore expel him, then he'd be out of this captivity for good! It was win-win all the way!

.

Defence

"Come in, Harry, take a seat. Sherbet Lemon?"

"Yeah, why not." Harry arrogantly reached out and almost grasped the topmost one – but suddenly hesitated, thinking deeply. He opened his fingers and pulled away his hand, staring at the pyramid of confectionery, and especially at the topmost sweet. It was difficult to see how to remove one from the sides without toppling others.

Dumbledore smiled. "You need to be more trusting, Harry. I can assure you, these are perfectly safe to eat."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

The eyebrows of the Headmaster rose considerably, and his eyes stopped twinkling. "Well then..." Watching Harry's expression carefully, he took the sherbet lemon from the top and popped it into his mouth. "See? Delicious. Please try one..."

"No thanks, Professor," said Harry, more certain than ever that he would never be sampling anything that Dumbledore supplied.

The door burst open and Snape barged in, his heavily-bandaged fist raised high. "POTTER! Attack me? In my own classroom? I'll make sure you never–"

"–Calm yourself, Severus. I'm sure the boy meant no harm. However... I would like to hear your side of the story, Harry."

Harry was determined to keep secret the protection his watch provided. "I never attacked anyone. How could I? I don't even have a wand, and I'm a cripple thanks to the dirtbag who dumped me on the Dursleys' doorstep. No, I believe there's a curse or something inside me – a curse placed upon me by Lord Voldemort!"

"What is this nonsense!" cried Snape. "Let me–"

"–I imagine I hear something evil within, taunting me. Oh, it lay dormant at first, but years of pain and emotional abuse caused it to rebel and defend itself. So now if any pig-ignorant moron attacks me then–"

"–You see, Albus! This–"

"–Personally," continued Harry, examining his fingernails, "I blame the arsewipe who ensured I was tortured repeatedly as a young child by leaving me with the most vicious, cruel, sick, twisted sadists in the country which roused the curse to fight back and–"

"–Yes, yes... but we can't have you–"

"–I swear on my magic I never disrupted his teaching nor did I attack the bastard. That good enough?"

"Professor Snape, please, Harry."

"Oh, he's a bastard as well, is he?"

Dumbledore sighed. "What must I do to gain your trust?" He gestured towards the pile of sherbet lemons. "Severus, Harry labours under the belief that these sweets are somehow... tainted. Would you be so kind as to...?"

Snape scowled and seized one with his bad hand, wincing at the pain of the sudden grip. Fumbling out a wand with his left hand, he cast spell after spell at the sweet. "Nothing but sugar and lemon with a little tartar." He reached out to replace it in the pile. "You miserable, ungrateful little–"

"–Severus... would you please?" Dumbledore made a gesture of putting it in his mouth.

Harry could see Dumbledore had already half-sucked the one he'd popped in earlier without effect. The young boy's face flushed and, guilt written all over it, he dropped his head – even more so when Snape said, "Oh, very well," and placed the one he'd tested into his own mouth. "Satisfied now, are we, you pathetic, arrogant, snot-nosed little–"

"–Severus! You shouldn't speak to the Headmaster like that." Harry raised his head defiantly, determined not to show them any more weakness.

"The question remains what to do with you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We cannot have anyone upsetting classes and... causing harm."

"I absolutely agree!" said Harry. "You hear that Snape? Stop fucking up your classes and attacking students and try teaching for a change. You do know how to teach, don't you?"

"Harry, this must stop now!"

"Well, I'm glad to hear you see it my way at last. So, you're going to stop encouraging Snape to abuse the children under his care? Excellent! I'll have nothing at which to retaliate and Snape can finally begin teaching instead of asking stupid questions he knows are unanswerable then trying to deduct house points from a house I'm not even in!"

"You're faking it, Potter, I know it!" snarled Snape.

"You tried to deduct 30 points from Gryffindor even though you know I'm not in ANY house! Go and check if you don't believe me. See if those points have been deducted."

"No need," said Dumbledore. "Being me, I can see from here..." He cast his wand at a device beside the Sorting Hat on a shelf behind his desk. Colours rotated, digits displayed. "The boy is right, Severus. No points have been deducted from any house in the last hour, except, unfortunately, for poor Schnozzle who sneezed on Professor Quirrell's turban. Garlic allergy it would appear."

The Headmaster touched his fingers together on the desktop and examined Harry's expression closely. "Harry, will you give me your word you will not disrupt classes nor attack anyone again?"

"I give you my word I will not initiate such disruption."

Dumbledore murmured something under his breath that Harry couldn't hear. "Very well, off you go then."

"Albus! You cannot mean to release him without any punishment whatsoever!"

Harry hurried down the stairs. He could hear Dumbledore saying, "What would you have me do, Severus? House points cannot be taken. He is determined to ignore detentions. And..." Harry paused halfway, listening intently. "...the boy must remain safe here at Hogwarts under my care."

Gleefully, Harry rubbed his hands together and strutted whistling on his way, loud enough for them to hear.

.

The Diversion

The very next day, McGonagall took Harry to Diagon Alley where he availed himself of a second wand, proper school robes (without any House emblem) and all the books and other supplies she thought necessary. Harry was also finally given his Gringotts vault key. He was astounded to discover a small fortune in Galleons was available to support him.

Fuming, he withdrew sufficient funds for his needs, then waved his crutch at McGonagall. "All this wealth yet I was being starved, and beaten, and... broken. Why? Why did no one take care of me properly?"

She couldn't answer him.

The weeks flew by after that. Snape suffered himself to keep silent insofar as Harry was concerned and became more reluctant to rant against other students too, so the Headmaster's directions must have had some influence. Harry pretended to do slightly better in classes now he had a wand others could see, yet one of his favourite subjects had become Herbology, which always reminded him of his living home and the abundant plant life that flourished there.

Madam Sprout was pleased with his attitude, and particularly his clever use of a mirror to direct sunlight onto the Devil's Snare they were studying. "Oh, well done, Mr Potter! Fifteen points to – oh, silly me."

"Professor," said Harry, "since I don't have a house of my own, could I not contribute points earned to another?"

Professor Sprout clapped her hands. "Excellent idea! Which house shall it be?"

The Gryffindors looked up eagerly, certain they'd be chosen, but Harry said, "Gryffindor earn many extra points through their courageous risk taking. I'd like to exemplify their noble attitude too, and gift the fifteen points to... Hufflepuff!"

Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones led the cheering, and amongst the other Hufflepuffs who came forward, Harry received an incredible bonus: a little girl with light hair and pigtails reminding him so much of Anna, smiled at him timidly from the farthest corner of the greenhouse. But the moment was brief; students crowded round their tubs and seed trays once more, dense foliage that had been temporarily pushed aside fell back into place, and the vision was no more.

During October, Harry now used every opportunity to earn points in different subjects which he persuaded each teacher to bestow on Hufflepuff in the hope he might win the attention and admiration of the girl he had glimpsed. Alas, few were the classes shared by Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and, even at mealtimes, the little girl was mostly hidden from Harry's view beyond the tall Justin Finch-Fletchley, until, one bright cold Saturday morning, Harry could finally stand the suspense no longer.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Yes, Harry, come in, come in, help yourself to a sherbet lemon."

"No thank you sir. I was wondering, sir. That is, now I have settled in more, if the Sorting Hat might yet come to a decision about my house?"

"But Harry! You are so well-suited where you are! Why would you wish to be anywhere but the Gryffindor common room? The students generally like you and you never lose them any house points." He smiled at his own joke.

Harry checked his watch and tried to hurry things along. "You're right sir, except..."

"Yes?"

"Loyalty and trust, Professor. I've grown to appreciate these virtues more and more the longer I'm at Hogwarts. "May I then accept your offer...?"

He reached over and took a sherbet lemon which he pushed with forced eagerness into his mouth, trying neither to gag nor swallow.

"An act of faith! Well done, Harry. Go then, try the hat and we'll see if it senses the change in you."

"Thank you, sir."

But as Harry placed the hat from the shelf over his head, there was a tremendous crash from downstairs. Dumbledore started to his feet. The portrait of Dippet cried out, "Albus, the gargoyle! It's escaped!"

"You know it cannot..." Dumbledore hurried off to investigate and secure the access to his rooms.

The moment he was gone, Harry spat out the sherbet lemon and gave it to the bird on the corner perch. Next he removed the Hat which had been complaining that he ought to be in Slytherin, and furious that it was not allowed to share students' thoughts with the Headmaster.

"Curious thing," said Dumbledore on his return. "As I suspected, the gargoyle hadn't escaped at all. George Weasley had simply concealed it with a Disillusionment charm."

The picture of Phineas Black snorted. "Those twins are always causing havoc. What's so unusual about that?"

"That he was caught so easily..." murmured Dumbledore thoughtfully, looking towards Harry who was waving the Sorting Hat excitedly.

"Did you hear it, sir?"

"Hear what, Harry?"

"It's sorted me! It's actually done it! Put me in Hufflepuff, would you believe!"

"Well that's... just wonderful, Harry. Congratulations."

"You couldn't just... uuh, test it for me, would you, sir?"

"Test it? You mean...?"

"Award me say, ten points?"

"One!"

"Five?"

"Two Points to Hufflepuff and that's my final offer," humphed the Headmaster, feeling he had been duped but not sure how. As Harry scampered off downstairs to find his new common room, Dumbledore gazed at Fawkes, his phoenix, which was looking decidedly off-colour and beginning to smoke...

.

The Nicest Girl

Harry found the Fat Friar easily enough by asking the nearest ghost he met on his search for the Hufflepuff common room. The Friar waved him down to the dungeons and drifted off to fetch an older Hufflepuff to help.

"Erm, yes...? Oh, you're Harry Potter. Thanks for all the points you've been sending our way; everyone's talking about it. I'm Cedric Diggory. How can I help?"

"Well, fact is, I've finally been sorted and, guess what?"

"You can't be in Slytherin, surely?" grimaced Diggory gesturing along the corridor. "What rotten luck."

"No, Hufflepuff, actually."

Diggory stared. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah." Harry shuffled nervously about his staff as if to adjust the spread of his weight.

"You're _genuinely_ in Hufflepuff?"

"Yes, I'm now officially in Hufflepuff." As he spoke, the badger emblem appeared on his robe.

"By Helga! You really are!" Diggory's fist pumped the air. "Come on and meet us all! A lot are out enjoying the dry weather but there's quite a few still in here studying for exams or catching up on their homework."

He took a couple of turns into a new corridor. "See those barrels? Look..." He showed Harry how to tap the correct one and they scrambled through.

"Listen up, everyone, Harry's been sorted into Hufflepuff. ... Harry Potter."

There was a sudden burst of excited shouting and floods of people came to congratulate Harry and thank him for the house points.

"Over there is the Hufflepuff Sanctum where we sort out our differences," said Cedric, waving vaguely towards a stout red door at the far end of the common room. "You do NOT want to go in there, believe me."

When he saw Harry staring at the heavy brass badger locks, Diggory pulled him away to lead the way to the first-year boys' dorm. "Uumm... that reminds me, Ernie said there's always been an extra bed in here for some reason – yes, must be that one, the cupboard's empty. He opened the wardrobe too. "And this is empty too so it's all spare. That's lucky."

"Lucky, uuh... yeah. Thanks, Cedric, must say, you are a friendly lot."

"Yes, well we always stick up for each other."

"...no matter what," murmured Harry, remembering the Injuns. "First rule, yeah?"

"That's right!" cried Cedric looking pleased. "Okay, I've got to head back to the library. Anything else you need?"

"Just one thing, is there anyone in this house called Anna or Anne?"

Diggory looked thoughtful then shook his head. "No, we haven't got a – oh, you mean _Lee_ anne. She's downstairs doing homework. It's on my way..."

He gestured to a girl with dark hair sitting at one of the tables near the fireplace. Harry shook his head but Cedric was gone. Unsure what to do, he walked forward. Leanne looked up and smiled. "Glad to have you with us, Harry. Bet it seems strange changing house in the middle of term, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Erm... you don't know anyone called Anna or–"

"–HANNAH!" cried Leanne and turned back to her History homework.

And there she was. Coming round a tall shelving that was partitioning off part of the chamber. Fair hair. Pigtails. So similar to Anna except for the nervous, compressed lips and frightened eyes. Her cheeks reddened when she saw Harry and she looked ready to dash back, thinking there was a mistake.

"You're Hannah?"

"Yes, uuh, who, er... _whom_ did you want?" She glanced over her shoulder and back and her pigtails swung briefly out then down again as if she needed rescuing.

Harry gaped. "Er... _you_ actually."

"Me?"

"Wondered if you'd uumm... walk outside. Bit of fresh air?" He realised how stupid that sounded. He didn't even know her. It wasn't Anna. If anything, it was a betrayal of Anna. But then... so had been Aggie.

She hesitated, puzzled. "Okay then. I'll uuh... just get my cloak, alright?"

"Sure."

"It's erm... I have to get it from upstairs, okay?"

"Sure."

"You'll still be... you'll wait for me?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

She ran. Stumbled slightly on one of the steps. Then disappeared from view.

Harry stood there. Dying on his crutch. He limped left and right a little as a distraction but students were looking at him anyway. She'd never come down. Not before his dignity was utterly crushed and... broken.

It was a long minute and Hannah looked very flustered when she finally appeared again. She didn't speak. Couldn't. He'd never really grasped that most everyone knew the boy who lived: how he'd survived Voldemort, how he'd faced off the Potions master and improved those lessons for everyone without considering any reward, that he liked treacle tart...

He only knew what he could see: eyes soft with kindness like Granny, the sunlit braids of Anna once they emerged into the bright day, older than himself – most everyone was. So had Aggie been, but Harry hadn't served hard time on the streets without learning a few things.

"I asked you because I saw you and sort of liked you and wanted to know you." At least that was honest, he told himself. "You're twelve aren't you?"

"Yes. ... You?"

"Nearly," he lied. "Thing is, reckon I'd be any good as your boyfriend?"

Her face contorted somewhere between a beaming smile and tortured agony. "Don't know."

"You could try me out. Nothing to lose. If I'm no good then push me to the back of the queue." He smiled weakly. Fevver had taught him that line but it hadn't done _him_ much good.

"Okay then."

Harry felt like punching the sky. "Can I hold hands?"

"Uumm... alright."

There were quite a few students around the lake shore. Hannah stiffened suddenly and steered slightly left. He hoped it was only the cool breeze. She didn't seem to be wanting to pull her hand away, but...

"Are you okay?" said Harry.

"Malfoy. Only I don't like–"

"–Has he given you trouble?" Harry's wand slid from its sheath into his hand – not the Ollivander crap but the one Anna had provided; the focus was sharper. If it would help, he'd slice Draco like mouldy bread and bake him at Regulo 6. Instead, his raw power compelled the blond boy to walk into the lake. Draco obeyed the compulsion without fighting, stopping only when the cold water lapped over his mouth causing him to snort and splutter. Dark magic, but effective against the unwary. Astonishingly, Crabbe and Goyle had gone with Malfoy. Dumbly standing there without needing to.

Harry kept on Hannah's course as it took them away in the direction of the Forest. They could see a cabin distantly and he supposed it must belong to that crazy giant guy who'd tried to smash into the Dursleys' house at midnight. He drew a breath. "Want to circle left around to the front of the castle or right around the lake and back?"

"Left."

Harry was pleased with that. Less people about. Had Hannah more to himself so small talk would be easier. "Made any friends yet?"

"Sue, Meg, Ernie, Leanne, Justin – most of those in my year."

"Hufflepuffs sure are friendly. In Gryffindor, Seamus and Dean are sort of friends, Lavender and Parv–something... erm... all the rest seem to be only casual with each other in our year. I don't know them though. Nigel... uum... I mean Neville doesn't mix well. None of them are anything like as friendly as the Hufflepuffs who welcomed me today. Oh, and there's another girl who nobody likes much – frizzy hair swot, but she helped me once or twice so can't be all bad..."

"Garner or something? She was called out somewhere in the middle of the Sorting on that first day. I was first so I had time to watch the rest and we were all like guessing what houses kids would end up in."

"Dunno her name. ... You were first, did you say? What's your surname? I think I remember you."

"Abbott. You remember me?"

"I came in last as they were starting. I just caught a glimpse of the back of your head. I thought your name might be Anna or Annie because–"

"–You remember me from then?"

"Well, yeah. I liked your hair. I do like your hair. It's nice."

He glanced sideways. Hannah's cheeks were glowing. Harry wondered if her pulse was racing like his. It was exciting just walking with her. Really exciting. He glanced over his shoulder towards the lake. He couldn't see Malfoy anymore. "You going home at Christmas?"

"Yes. Dad has time off from the Ministry. Mum's a... works in a... It's called IT; it stands for information technology. She's New-blood."

"She's what?"

"Oh, sorry, most people say Muggle-born but Mum always says New-blood. Sounds nicer than 'Muggle-born'." Hannah sounded defensive.

"Yeah, my mum was Muggle-born too," said Harry.

"Oh, of course, Lily Potter. I wasn't thinking." Hannah brightened up a little, pleased they had something in common.

"You know about her?"

"Of course! James and Lily Potter. Everybody knows about your parents."

"I found a letter from her in the cellar once when I was about six. Broke me up."

"Oh, Harry, that's so..." Hannah stopped and turned to face him. They'd reached the northeast wall of the castle.

"What? Oh yeah... I'm over it now. Got kicked around a lot." He slung his staff across one shoulder on its strap. Hoped he looked cool. Fidgeted a bit.

They didn't speak for a while, then Hannah said nervously, "You will... I can see you again, Harry? I mean, you'll be in our classes now, won't you? And at the Hufflepuff table at mealtimes?"

"Sure, I am your boyfriend, right? Sit together? Homework? What's your favourite subject? I like plants and charms and potions and–"

"–Potions? Is it true you... you talked back to Professor Snape?"

"Yeah, but I do like potions itself. Just that he ruins it for everybody. Can't stand people like him. He attacked me the moment I – he was still doing the roll call and he insulted me for no reason!"

"And you broke all the bones in his hand?"

"He did that himself when he tried to drag me away to the Headmaster. I've got a protective shield up you see. Imagine if your knuckles hit steel armour really hard only ten times worse."

"All the time?"

"Yeah. It's not infallible but it'll stop most physical attacks. Don't worry, it won't hurt friends; it's aggression that triggers it."

Tentatively, she reached out to touch his shoulder. "Can't feel anything different."

"The magic's stronger at the back I think," he lied.

Her hand slid around him. Harry moved closer and put his arm around her too. "Feel anything different now?"

Their faces were close together. He said, "Can I kiss you on the cheek?"

She fell silent and he was sure she'd say no.

"Yes, alright."

It was just an affectionate peck. Then they looked at each other.

"Nobody kissed me before," she said.

"You're easily the nicest girl in our year."

She stared at Harry wonderingly. He just seemed to say sweet things without thinking. "You don't even–"

"–Can I ... Can we have another kiss? Just one. Is that alright? Then we'd better start ambling round to the front door, I guess."

Hannah nodded, but as he leaned in to her cheek, she turned to him slightly and pointed to her mouth, wondering if she was supposed to close her eyes. This morning she'd just been Hannah Abbott. Now she was Harry Potter's friggin' girlfriend and his lips were touching hers! How did this happen, she asked herself.

He heard her try to hide a sigh with a little cough, then they linked hands and continued their walk.

.

Forgotten Remains

A happy week followed for Harry and Hannah. Out of nowhere had come the blessing of their friendship and the first signs of romantic feeling. For hours they got to know one another. Their common studies were swiftly dealt with, thanks to Harry's prior knowledge, and in many subjects he could easily assist Hannah's understanding and completion of her homework.

Flying was fun. He supported Hannah as the young witch took to the air on her broomstick, but soon she was enjoying the freedom of flight for herself. Susan and Leanne were already adept but Justin was ever awkward.

"You'll get the hang of it eventually," Ernie said to Justin, as they walked back to the castle. "Most of us have done it befor–"

"–What's that?" Justin dropped his broom and bent down to examine something in the grass. "What _is_ that?"

"Stand back!" Madam Hooch came forward. "It's a Remembrall – or what's left of it. Draco Malfoy was foolish enough to stomp on it. You should have seen the blood! And the idiot nearly drowned himself the other day too! Whatever next! The boy's an idiot." She vanished the remains then led them back inside.

.

Discards

"Troll – in the dungeons!"

Harry looked up from his baked potato. Professor Quirrell had apparently fainted in front of Dumbledore's table.

There was uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

But the sounds of chaos quickly returned and gradually increased, so frantic were the children.

"Hang on!" shouted Harry, grabbing Hannah's arm as she rose from her seat.

Amidst the bedlam, confused Hufflepuffs were running to and fro. It didn't help that most of the Slytherins had scrambled and pushed past them to escape first. Diggory and two prefects Harry didn't know were remonstrating with Madam Sprout.

"Ernie! Susan!" cried Harry. "I think they're worried about taking us down there where the troll is. Tell the others!"

He looked around but most of the staff had gone in search of the Troll, including Dumbledore.

"I think we're all safer here," said Harry to Hannah and the others nearby. "Cedric! What we doing?"

Diggory called back, "Madam Sprout is going to seal these doors once the others have gone, and she's keeping watch with Truman and the other prefects."

Harry nodded.

"What should we do if...?" said Leanne. "Sue? ... Ernie?"

Harry sank back down onto his seat and jabbed mournfully at his potato. "I guess we wait."

Over an hour passed during which everyone picked at what food was not spoilt. Madam Sprout pronounced everywhere was secure and, with the prefects, led them down to the Hufflepuff basement. Rumours were circulating that six Slytherins, several elves, and a couple of Gryffindors had been killed, but nobody was sure if it wasn't all some made-up story. One gory account was they'd all been torn limb from limb, picked apart like chickens, the meat sucked off and the bones crunched, before the Troll had been subdued.

As more and more accounts confirmed that it was true, Harry became furious. "How'd it get _into_ the school anyway!"

"Trolls are dark creatures, aren't they?" cried Leanne. "Shouldn't Professor Quirrell have dealt with it himself?"

"He's useless," said Ernie. "Everyone says so."

"That could have been us if we'd gone down there!" wailed Susan. "My aunt says the Headmaster should keep us safe!"

"Yeah, Dumbledore is the one who's ultimately responsible," growled Harry, pounding one fist into his other hand, "he sent those Slytherins to their deaths – discarded like worn socks. He'll pay for this, surely unless–" – _unless I kill the sanctimonious tyrant first,_ he thought. _You wait, you bastard! Just because my plan for retribution is in my head, doesn't mean it's not real._

But Dumbledore _did_ manage to avoid the condemnation. He accused the School Board of not providing sufficient funds. He chastised the Slytherins for blatantly disregarding everyone's safety but their own. He denounced the Hufflepuffs for not obeying his instructions. He blamed the Ministry, the kitchen elves, and even global warming for driving the troll from its natural habitat, but he himself, of course, could not be faulted.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Some reviewers considered that Aggie with Harry was unacceptable in the last chapter. Well, Harry had to learn to survive in a raw, lawless environment where lying, stealing, violence, casual sex, property damage, and other crimes were commonplace. Yes, Aggie took advantage of Harry but I doubt she saw it that way. Personally, I found the abuse he suffered at the hands of the Dursleys more repulsive. If immorality offends anyone then don't read further because I promise you there'll be torture and murder along with the friendship and gentle, romantic affection. Like it or not, every scene has its part to play in my stories._

 _The main reason Harry took to the streets was lack of money. Wizards can't conjure food and he'd not want to spend too much time on his own or at the Dursleys. Also, his emotional reaction to the Trembles' death was to get away from the place where he missed them the most._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	6. Exploring

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. He meets Granny Tremble (in three forms) who teaches him to control his magic. She also warns him of Dumbledore's manipulations. She dies, leaving Harry with a home but no money. He hardens up by living mostly on the streets, thieving and fighting with a gang called the Injuns. Aged eleven, he allows Dumbledore to abduct him to Hogwarts where he is sorted into Hufflepuff and befriends Hannah Abbot. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 6**

 **Exploring**

* * *

.

The Tinselled Packet

Harry and Hannah were inseparable through November and December but he could scarcely begrudge her intention to enjoy Christmas with her family. Nor dare he sneak out with her, knowing Dumbledore would only drag him back 'for his own protection'. This fear was emphasised when he detected a magical aura behind one of the tall, white marble statues that decorated the Entrance Hall.

"Are you sure you won't come?" said Hannah amidst the excited throngs departing through the main doors. "Dad said I could bring a friend, especially when I said it was you."

"I've told you, Dumbledore won't let me leave the castle grounds. Don't look now but I think he's watching us. I'm not paranoid, Hannah! Why won't you believe me? – No! Don't look about!"

"You mean it's all true? He abducted you and forced you here without your guardians' consent! Why?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't know. He's always scheming and using people. He brought me here and I can't get out. Believe me, I've tried."

"There's more than one way to hex a kneazle, young Harriekins." Fred and George, sporting voluminous Gryffindor scarves that trailed halfway back up the grand staircase stood either side of Harry. "We could not help overhearing your dilemma."

"I bet you _could_ ," muttered Harry, grinning at Hannah.

"You wound us!" said Fred, clutching his heart. "And just when we've decided to loan you an early Christmas present as a gesture for the lovely prank you helped us set up."

"Loan? You want to _lend_ me a gift?"

"Well, it's kind of open-ended. We'd like to be able to borrow it back you see."

Hannah frowned. "What prank do they mean, Harry?"

"You've not told her?" said Fred in mock astonishment. "Hannah, prepare your sweet, innocent mind for a shock. For some reason, your Harry here was desperate to get sorted into Hufflepuff and needed a diversion while he pretended to use the Sorting Hat in Dumbledore's office."

"You're not a true Hufflepuff?" said Hannah, staring at Harry as if she'd never seen him before. "You tricked your way in? Why?"

Harry gazed at her silently for a few moments, and suddenly her eyes widened. "You joined Hufflepuff... just for me?"

"Yes, Hannah, for you."

The Christmas tree lights began to shimmer in her eyes as his words rang true in her heart.

"But it was more than that," Harry added quickly. "Yeah, the hat can be influenced, but it really did sort me into Hufflepuff. Thing is, nobody heard it because of a little silencing charm I used to give me more time to think. That way I could pretend not to be in any house. It worked out great because I could avoid losing points! In the end though, I abandoned that so I could get to know you."

A single tear broke free and trickled down Hannah's cheek.

"So that's how you did it..." said George, appreciatively. "Then this should be definitely up your alley." He handed over a slim packet held together by rusty Christmas tinsel. "Instructions are inside. Use it badly if you wish to enjoy a... VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS, HARRY!"

The twins dashed off, trailing their enchanted scarves through the stream of students heading towards Hogsmeade station, tripping up several in the process.

Harry carefully ran his wand over the packet – not that he didn't trust the twins.

"I'd better go too..." said Hannah mournfully.

Harry fiddled with the tinsel unsuccessfully for a few moments then said, "If there's something useful in here, maybe I can find a way to join you later. No promises though."

He levitated a sprig of mistletoe above their heads. They kissed and kissed again and then she was gone. He gazed after her departing figure feeling desperately empty and.. broken.

Harry turned to go back up the stairs.

"I'll take that now, please, Harry."

"Professor Dumbledore! It's nothing. Just a harmless prank from the twins."

"I value your safety very highly. You wouldn't want to come to any harm, would you? Trust me, Harry. I shall return this to you on Christmas day."

"But you've no right! That belongs to me!"

"Good day to you, Harry. Enjoy your stay."

 _Yeah, in Hogwarts Prison._ Harry trudged back down to the Hufflepuff basement looking as miserable as he possibly could. The common room was deserted because every Hufflepuff loves family above all, and Christmas was a most special time of year for being together. Harry ran up to his dorm, flung himself on his bed... then grinned as he opened up his camouflaged flatbag. Just inside was the thin packet tied with tinsel. Glad now that he'd had the foresight to use his wand to copy the outer envelope for Dumbledore to seize, he opened the real one.

A faint smile appeared on his face. It grew. It expanded. All on his own in Hufflepuff House, Harry Potter burst out laughing! Maybe he could have his Christmas cake and eat it too.

Most of the rest of the day, Harry spent exploring the castle. The twins had provided information about where to find a secret tunnel out of Hogwarts, how to get into the kitchens, and even provided a magic map that showed where everyone was! Harry felt a tremendous release. He could slip away and visit Hannah or... this might be a rare opportunity to uncover some of Dumbledore's secrets...

.

The Put Down

A surprise awaited Harry Potter on Christmas morning. Not only was the empty packet with its tinsel returned beside his bed, but another gift had arrived which, after testing for hidden enchantments with his wand, he hastily unwrapped. It was a fine cloak with a note:

 _Your father left this in my poss-  
ession before he died. It is time  
it was given to you. Use it well.  
A Very Merry Christmas to you._

Harry stared in disbelief. He'd spent months at the Ministry studying records, forms, and various legal documents and knew the Headmaster's flamboyant handwriting very well. Why had Dumbledore been holding back something of his father's for so long?

He examined the garment and quickly discovered it was a cloak of invisibility and therefore of little use to him because his own perfected hiding charm was undetectable and concealed sounds and odours as well.

He tested the cloak for tracking charms then stuffed it into his flatbag while he studied the note once more. _Use it well._ Was Dumbledore trying to lure him into a trap? He vaguely recalled an absurd announcement at the Sorting banquet: something about danger on the third floor corridor. Harry shook his head. Why would anyone in their right mind want to go there? Then again, the location might uncover information about the Headmaster's plans...

Christmas dinner was a disaster, McGonagall and Hagrid faced Flitwick and Percy across a single table with the Headmaster at the top end facing Harry. If he thought Harry was going to thank him for the Christmas present he had another think coming!

"Is that Ron's rat?" Harry asked as he helped himself to brussels sprouts. "Didn't he want to take it home with him?" He was pouring on gravy when he became aware of the silence and looked up. Everyone was staring at him. "What?"

Percy spoke quite evenly, considering. "My brother was killed two months ago. The Troll, remember?"

"God... sorry." Harry gawked at him, and the gravy boat, suddenly heavier, clunked down at a funny angle from his limp wrist, sploshing gravy onto the tablecloth. "Didn't know it was him." He couldn't help feeling sorry for the rat as it peeped out from a robe pocket, nibbling the piece of roast potato held in its new master's hand.

Percy was mouthing something silently and quite laboriously at Harry: " _Getting – old – might – have – him – put down – next – year._ "

Harry nodded with what he hoped was a straight face. Percy sounded quite ridiculous, like a red-faced Uncle Vernon spelling out S–E–X in front of Dudley even when he was ten.

He chewed his food thoughtfully for a few minutes, trying to remember Ron's face. He'd not been well acquainted with any of the Gryffindors except for the twins who he vaguely knew, so hadn't even noticed Ron's absence at all what with more personal matters filling his thoughts. Who then was the other Gryffindor that went missing? ... After a while he shook his head and reached for another turkey wing, in his mind an image of a Troll picking his teeth with Ron's leg bone. He shuddered then glanced at Percy's face – still solemn and thoughtful and yes, still grieving. Dumblefuckindore would pay one day – with his life! " _So mote it be..."_

"What was that, Harry?" asked the Headmaster, his eyes trying to pierce into Harry's.

"Sony TV," Harry said smoothly, then added in a dark growl, " _I'd kill for one."_

.

The Open Door

That night, Harry lay awake thinking. With the castle almost empty, he had the best opportunity possible to explore normally-inaccessible areas of the castle and he was determined to make use of it. Since no one would see him, he left his crutch behind and, armed with the map, he set out.

The kitchens were nearest. Casting invisibility upon himself he entered to find the place near-empty and quite gloomy. Only a couple of strange creatures which he recognised as house-elves were about, cleaning an old stove in the corner. He stole a couple of leftovers to snack on his way, then departed.

Where next? He'd visited the restricted section of the library many times before, but Madam Pince hadn't been at any of the meals today. Had she remained in her rooms? Or had she left the castle? Certainly he could be more relaxed in his browsing, so he headed up to the fourth floor and cast a glimmer of light to peruse the shelves. Dark reading indeed! An hour passed by swiftly as he scanned many volumes and made notes of titles worth future scrutiny. He already possessed a copy of _Darkest Curses_ back at his Wittering home, but _Guiding Creepers_ might be useful next summer if the garden was invading the house again.

He'd been standing, moving along the shelves, for too long. His right foot was aching so he decided to see if he could find the other stairs which ought to bring him down to the Hufflepuff side of the lower levels more quickly. He could always come back another night during the holidays, _and bring your damned staff next time!_ he told himself as he limped along.

A figure loomed ahead and he stiffened, his wand slipping automatically into his hand. He snorted a laugh. It was just a suit of armour. On he went. Then his skin prickled again. Harry sensed magic!

Ahead of him, a door was ajar. Casting a cautiously-faint detection charm, he verified powerful wizardry was emanating from that room. He looked around, not sure exactly where he was; he'd taken a few turns in his efforts to find the stair. Should he go back? His ankle began throbbing again. That decided it. Forward must surely be quicker, mustn't it?

Curiosity stopped him at the door. All was silent, and yet...? He yearned to take a peek, but what if this was a snare set for him by the Headmaster? Why else had he returned the invisibility cloak with its tempting message: _Use it well..._? He smothered a sigh, strengthened his camouflage and silencing, then leaned forward to peer through the tiny gap in the doorway. Just a disused classroom. But near the window, the tiniest shimmer of magic tickled his senses.

His foot was hurting more now. He lowered himself to a crouch, then sat himself down cross-legged to think, rubbing his foot to ease it. Was the Headmaster just a few paces away? Waiting? And Why? He dare not uncrinkle the map for fear of it being heard outside his tight silencing charm. And would the incantation work while he was muted? Perhaps he should back away down the corridor first...?

Something held him there. He'd set out for discoveries and was determined, even yearning, to resolve this mystery. If it truly was Dumbledore then the wily old wizard might detect the door being pushed wider, no matter how slowly. What would wise old Granny or Miss Tremble have done? He owed it to them to uncover anything he could about the one who had ended their life. But how?

Harry bowed his head, thinking deeply of how the trinity of his mentor had bestowed so much love upon him in three different forms. Wrapped in thoughts, a faint light glowed upon his closed eyelids, and he blinked them open.

 _Encouragement..._ was the whisper in his mind. Upon his left shoulder sat Miss Tremble, the fairy-angel, golden, caring...

 _What should I do?_ thought Harry, caught up in a near-trance.

Her breath caught him, drifting him gently through the wall. He saw then that the flicker high in the window had been merely a dusty cobweb stirring in the draught from the door. Harry's wand twitched. Ever so slightly. The gossamer detached, floated down. For a moment it outlined the edge of a pointed hat and a crooked nose: Dumbledore! He seemed to be directing his attention not at Harry but towards something else deep in the gloom.

Harry did not breathe – though he could not be heard. He did not move – though he could not be seen. He was as indiscernible as Miss Tremble whose voice now lilted in his mind:

 _Look..._

It was a tall mirror. Why it held Dumbledore's interest, Harry could not discern, but it would be worth investigating. The Headmaster could not remain here forever, and when he left, that would be Harry's opportunity...

How to find this special room again out of so many? Harry cast the mildest of detection spells on the wood-clawed foot of the mirror, then found himself drifting back through the wall. Next time nothing would stop him rediscovering and walking in this door!

Miss Tremble faded, departed with a kiss on his cheek. He wished she could have stayed for a proper chat like the old days. Would she be sorted and go on now? Or might she return in moments of need?

He lost himself once more, but eventually recognised a passageway that was encouraging, and soon had descended to the Hufflepuff dorms. There he eventually fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of Miss Tremble reaching out to him, but ever unreachable within a glassy mirror watched over by an evil sorcerer.

.

Principles

For several nights Harry detected Dumbledore still within the mirror room. Did he remain there all day? Evidently he was waiting to trap Harry. But why?

"Let the fuckhead sit on his bony arse till it rots under him!" cried Harry. There was no one to hear him. Around the world, billions were celebrating, but the Hufflepuff common room remained empty of all but his own loneliness. He studied his books through the day and wandered the castle by night. Harry had intended to visit Hannah but eventually realised he didn't even know her address. He'd never felt quite so isolated before – not even with the Dursleys – and almost envied Percy his stupid rat.

The last but one day of the holiday finally arrived. He went to search for McGonagall to learn if he could meet Hannah from the train when it arrived the next evening. Percy told him she was in the Headmaster's office discussing arrangements for the coming term and should not be disturbed. Percy had glared at him warningly, so Harry turned away, disappointed.

But not for long! This was the perfect opportunity. Swiftly he raced to the fourth floor and began searching for the mirror room once more. It took him a while, only to find the room empty. The mirror was gone. With no other diversion to hold his interest, the day was going to be long. He considered sending Hannah an owl but then realised it would look foolish when he's sent her nothing for nearly three weeks and she was returning tomorrow. Why hadn't he thought earlier of sending her a message! He rubbed the back of his neck guiltily; he'd been a useless boyfriend, and he ought to do something about it.

That morning was the worst of the holidays. He'd achieved nothing himself – though he did have the map and – the secret tunnel! After all, there was still Hogsmeade to explore.

After lunch he went out and was soon up inside Honeydukes stealing pocketfuls of candy. Quickly he went out to see what he could find in the village. Invisibly he nicked a smartly-dressed wizard's butter beer in the Three Broomsticks. He supped it on the way to Zonko's where he filched some dungbombs to thank the twins with tomorrow, then helped himself to a few books in Tomes and Scrolls. There was a decrepit potions shop from where he took a few unusual ingredients – yet here he added money to the till. _Injuns got principles_ he heard Aggie's admonition in his head.

On his return he stared down the road that lead to the train station, wondering if he dare risk meeting Hannah tomorrow without the Deputy Headmistress's permission. With a sigh he trudged on, his right foot aching once more and his heart suddenly heavy. The road to Hogwarts was growing dark.

.

Reflections

Hannah's kiss the next evening revived his spirits. Harry had managed to greet his girlfriend on the muddy path and sneaked her into one of the empty carriages instead of the boats. She didn't believe him when he said they were drawn by dark horses with wings, yet Hannah was still holding his hand extra tight all the way to the castle.

Excitement filled the common room for the first time in weeks. Hufflepuffs excelled at greeting one another, and there was backslapping too. "Well done, Cedders, old chap!"

"What's that about?" Harry asked Hannah.

"Not sure..."

They found out the next morning at breakfast. The Headmaster announced that the previous term's test results were displayed in the central ground floor corridor as usual, and reminded them about the danger on the third floor and in the Forest, with a pointed look in Harry's direction. Harry just spooned into his milky broom flakes and ignored him. He had more important things on his mind, like brushing Hannah's hand with his knuckles and jostling her knee under the table.

So it was Hannah herself who dragged him to the main noticeboard.

"I'm here to get educated, not educate the staff as to how well I'm doing," he grumbled. He was resolved to keep a low profile and not tip off Dumbledore about his true abilities.

"Fifth in our year!" cried Hannah. "I can't believe I'm fifth with all four houses! Boot and Turpin are top but they're Ravenclaws! I'm actually fifth!"

Megan wrinkled up her nose and grumbled, "Yeah well you've got Harry."

"Oy! I only help her learn – not do the tests for her!"

"So how come Cedric's number one in his year while you, Harry, are only ... seventy-one in ours? "

But Harry wasn't listening. His sheathed wand was tingling on his forearm and that could only mean one thing. He looked around but couldn't see anything unusual, and there were far too many people here; he'd have to come back another time.

During History, Hannah kept gazing at him with gratitude and whispering " _Thanks!"_

"I enjoy helping you," murmured Harry. "We'll have you top at the end of this term, you'll see."

She pinked a little. "I'm sure the Ravenclaws will always dominate. Stands to reason."

"Not wotserface? Garner?"

"Who?"

"You know, the bookworm with attitude. ... Look, I'm going to sneak out and take another look at the results. Won't be long."

He didn't look back. If he had, he'd have seen the shock in Hannah's eyes. "You mean...?" The universe and Binns carried on as if nothing had happened. But it had.

Harry had no interest in test results. He stood before the noticeboard and drew out his wand. "Point me Tracker..."

His wand eased very slowly upwards to the ceiling. He stared. Nothing unusual was visible. The signal he'd put on the strange mirror at Christmas had been weak. Perhaps it was on the first floor above.

He raced up the nearest flight trying to work out roughly which way to head. His wand helped. Distant footsteps could be heard so he rendered himself invisible just in case. _About here near this statue..._ he mused, but there was nothing in the alcove behind it.

"Point me Tracker..."

His wand rose a little more swiftly this time. He felt sure now the mirror must be yet another floor up, so off he sprinted again. Only to be disappointed yet again. The corridors didn't match the ones below. There was no way through whichever way he navigated. It was if there were hidden spaces behind the walls. "Point me Tracker..." Yes, the mirror was definitely hidden on this level. Why? What was so special about it?

He reached out with his magic – startled, he took a step back. Extremely powerful wards were in place. There was no way past them without alerting the Headmaster. Why? If Dumbledore planned to trap him inside the mirror you'd think he'd just have a door – perhaps locked but so that any first year like himself could open. Then drop a hint to lure him in.

Harry thought deeply. There'd been that announcement about the third floor repeated at breakfast. Had that been the hint? But the mirror was on the second floor. Perhaps he could access it from the third and drop down or...

He strode back the way he'd come. If Dumbledore was manipulating him to take one route – then he'd bloody well find a different way! Back at the statue below, he stared upwards, using his wand to precisely position where the mirror was located. The ceiling blocks were of impregnable stone, dark and sooty from the centuries of flaming torches below. Harry probed the length of the ceiling with his wand. Yes, the Headmaster had surrounded the _walls_ around the mirror with protective wards, but it must not have occurred to him to ward it from below – especially if he'd expected Harry to enter from the floor above it!

Casting a swift look up and down the corridor, Harry took a chance and vanished one of the blocks above – then blinked rapidly as mortar dust and fine crumbs of stone drifted down on his head. He peered through the cloud for a while then shook himself. Nothing for it, he'd have to climb up. He clambered onto the statue and, hovering his wrist and ankle bands, scrambled up through the opening, scattering small chunks of broken masonry as he did so.

The boy grinned at his success. The room was dim but there was no mistaking the back of the tall mirror which dominated the chamber in which he'd found himself. Dare he go round and gaze into it? Well Dumbledore had looked in its direction, at least from a distance.

He stumbled and tripped through the loose bits of rubble he'd dislodged which was hard to avoid while his feet were invisible. He moved carefully forward as far as the space allowed, then cautiously squinted back out of the corner of one eye. All he could see was a plain, ordinary mirror. He glanced at his enchanted watch. Twenty minutes remained before the end of the History class. Harry turned fully and strode towards his destiny...

"Miss Tremble?" How could she be in the...? He stopped, gobsmacked. It wasn't Miss Tremble, but _Hannah_ who was smiling at him from the glass – yet older, perhaps in her early twenties, and with jaunty bunches in her hair now like she'd just been rescued. Beyond her, a couple of children were frolicking and squealing; one of them had striking green eyes.

Harry lurched a little closer, cursing the debris on the floor, but lining himself up more squarely with the mirror so his own reflection swung into view. Like Anna, his image was mid-twenties and looked really cool in a suit and there wasn't even a crutch over the shoulder. Harry almost twisted his bad ankle trying to get a closer look at them both.

Hannah was pointing at her partner's polished court shoes, dusty with the mess Harry had stirred up, and marked by a sharp rock. The reflection of Harry kicked it away and Harry himself was astonished to feel it clunk physically against his bad foot. Grimacing, he picked the thing up and was about to lob it away, when the wide-eyed negative gestures coming at him from the mirror caused him to hesitate. He rubbed the dark rock on his sleeve. Traces of shiny red were to be seen. When he looked up, Hannah was nodding.

"What?" said Harry. "You want me to keep this junk?" He shook his head, but after glancing at his watch, he stuffed it in his bag, and ran around to the back of the mirror again. Five minutes to go! A quick desperate last scan of the chamber showed him he hadn't missed anything of value – though he'd really like to come visit his future self sometime. He dropped down the hole onto a cushioning charm, then Gemino'd another block to fill the hole.

Hurrying back to the History class, he tried to obscure his disappointed expression with a forced smile. Was foretelling the future the only secret of the mirror? Why would Dumbledore want to lure him to see that? Perhaps he'd been wrong and it had never been to ensnare _him_ at all. Then who? And why?

Hannah was putting her books away by the time he'd pushed through the rowdy, outflowing current of students and re-entered the classroom. She glanced across at him, looking quite vexed, her braids hanging limply as though–

"–Did I miss anything important?" he asked.

"Only Miss 'Garner', it seems. ... Harry, how could you?"

"What?"

"She died and you didn't even notice? Didn't even care? Didn't even bother to find out her real name?" She pushed past him and flounced out of the room in a huff, mingling with the rush of students, and quickly disappearing from his sight. Harry stared after with dread clutching at his heart. Had the mirror been wrong about his future? Was his relationship with Hannah utterly... broken?

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	7. Home Is Where The Heart Is

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. He meets Granny Tremble (in three forms) who teaches him to control his magic. She also warns him of Dumbledore's manipulations. She dies, leaving Harry with a home but no money. He hardens up by living mostly on the streets, thieving and fighting with a gang called the Injuns. Aged eleven, he allows Dumbledore to abduct him to Hogwarts where he is sorted into Hufflepuff and befriends Hannah Abbot. But their relationship breaks down after tragedy at the school. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 7**

 **Home Is Where The Heart Is**

* * *

.

Remembrance

The first weeks of the new year were miserable for Harry Potter who'd found himself in a curious agony of sorrow and regret. Hannah was very much a caring person and truly upset he'd shown no interest in the identities of fellow students killed within the school walls. Even talking at the same table in the common room, she seemed separated from him by an awful space.

"But surely," he had protested, "you don't expect me to know the names of every Slytherin who got eaten by a Troll?"

Leanne, Ernie, and others at the table, stiffened at his outburst.

Hannah blinked tearfully several times. "You mean... you _don't?"_

He shook his head. "Was one called uumm..."

"They were mostly the younger, weaker ones who got trampled in the rush and held at the back of the skirmish to get into their common room," said Hannah, sadly. "Adrian Pucey did try to encourage the first-years, but he was tripped over directly in the path of the Troll, and nobody helped _him_ escape being clubbed into... just m–mush they said."

Hannah clutched her head as if trying to block out the torment of her own imagination, yet some inner Hufflepuff sense of obligation compelled her to continue, "Millicent, Tracey, and Pansy were the only ones who w–were actually ea–eaten. They were lucky. Blaise said Gemma was squeezed and sucked and – Oh Helga! – hung up without legs, screaming. I can't... I just can't repeat what happened to Ellie and Greg; th–their s–skins were..." Hannah burst into tears.

Susan glared at Harry and put an arm round the shoulders of the weeping girl.

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I really am," said Harry, not sure how to comfort her. "I'm not a good person like you. I only remember Garner sitting on her own at mealtimes – I felt a bit sorry for her actually," he added, hoping his girlfriend might relent a little.

"Her name was _Granger_ , you... you... – _Hermione_ Granger! Didn't you even ask anyone? Didn't you read the Daily Prophet?"

He shook his head, feeling both worthless and undeserving of any kind of respect from her. He'd been so preoccupied with revenge and preventing Dumbledore's future negligence, he hadn't studied actual details about the victims. He'd never truly known them so what good would it have done?

.

Behind the Red Door

The last day before the Easter holidays was soon upon them. Harry was mortified that he and Hannah would be separated worse than they had been at Christmas – perhaps irrecoverably. He descended from his dorm on the final evening to find the common room mostly gutted of company, apart from a few faces staring at him.

"Harry Potter! You are formally summoned to the inner sanctum!" Gabriel Truman was wearing dress robes and looked extremely serious. His right arm was extended towards the stout red door with its brass badger locks and heavy bolts. As Harry watched, the bolts slid solemnly back, the locks clicked, and the red door gradually began to swing. Harry had never seen the ultimate barrier open before.

"What's going on?"

"You are cautioned that Sanctum sessions are always secret, and you must never betray anything that happens within this chamber to a non-Hufflepuff, so mote it be! Enter please, Harry Potter."

Clutched and clawed by an abstract fear, Harry wondered whether to go back for his crutch to gain an edge of sympathy, but the prefect's stern expression did not suggest he'd be prepared to wait. Cautiously Harry approached the open doorway and went through...

He discovered that the sanctum chamber was circular, with tiers of seats – most of which were occupied by grave-faced students. In the centre were three tables set in a triangle. Several prefects sat at one, at another was Hannah with her back to him. She did not look round.

"Take your place, Potter." Truman indicated the remaining empty table.

One of the prefects at the first table then rose. "In the matter of allegations made on the 16th April, 1992 or thereabouts, we shall be dealing with irreconcilable differences betwixt Miss Hannah Abbott and Mr Harry James Potter."

As he sat down, another prefect rose up, rustling papers in his hand. "Harry Potter, in light of the fact that for the first time in the history of Hogwarts, a Hufflepuff failed to attend their induction after the Sorting Ceremony we–"

"–it wasn't my fault! I was–"

"–Please sit down, Mr Potter, you will have a chance to speak later." The older youth looked down at his notes once more. "Because you were never formally inducted we need to ask if you truly understand Helga Hufflepuff's first rule that _we are a family and watch out for each other no–"_

"– _no matter what..."_ I learned that lesson before I was nine, and I've lived by it ever since!"

Silence.

"Let the records show that Harry James Potter is a true Hufflepuff and so accountable to us all."

"HURRAH!" the salutatory roar made Harry flinch back in his seat.

"Will the accused please stand."

Very slowly Harry lifted himself back up to his feet, feeling like he was wearing a lead millstone round his neck.

"Hannah Abbott, you are charged with–"

"–Hang on!" cried Harry. "I'm the one who's in the wrong!"

"Please sit down Mr Potter. You may have your say in due course."

"But..."

"Hannah Abbott, of your own free will you have submitted yourself for scrutiny in that you held yourself disappointed in your friend Harry Potter because he did not live up to your expectations of a true Hufflepuff. Is that correct?"

" _yes,"_ she murmured in a tiny voice.

"Speak up please."

"Yes, it's true."

"And are you now, of your own free will and without coercion, of a mind that your judgement was false?"

"Yes."

"And do you also confess your fear that Harry Potter was unjustly condemned?"

"Yes."

"And are you truly contrite but fearful that he has every right now to despise and hate and loathe the very ground you walk–"

"–Hang on! I never–"

"–Yes."

"And if he were to accept you back, what would you say?"

Hannah hung her head. "That I would be forever grateful and that I never deserved him in the first place and I wish I were dead."

Harry felt sick.

"Please sit down, Miss Abbott."

Papers shuffled and fluttered and became selected. Three prefects heads moved close together in private conference.

"Mr Potter, please stand."

He did so.

"Mr Potter, do you consider that Hannah Abbott has wronged you in any way?"

"No, I do not."

"Is there anything to forgive?"

"Nothing!"

"What would you say if she were to accept you back?"

"That I love and miss her so badly it hurts all the time and I am truly ashamed if I did wrong."

Hannah began to sob.

"You may sit down, Mr Potter."

There was more rustling of papers with heads together.

"Will Miss Abbott and Mr Potter please stand."

"Easter is here. It is the recommendation of this mediatory council that you each take time to be apart for a few days and to reflect on what you have heard in this sanctum. You should both then reexamine your feelings for one another so that at your next meeting you may begin your relationship anew. Do you both find this agreeable?"

"I do," said Harry.

"I do," said Hannah.

"So mote it be."

Hannah was still too ashamed to look at Harry, and he watched her, with Susan's help, hurry out from the chamber. He gave her a minute. When he came out she was gone. He was glad he wouldn't see her for a while; she'd looked worse than broken.

.

Recognising the Relic

Over Easter, Harry took the opportunity to escape down the secret tunnel and Disapparate to his home in Wittering. The council had been right: he needed time away from Hannah, as well as from the constrictions of Hogwarts. He didn't care what Dumbledore would say on his return – if he ever did.

He tended the garden and tried in vain to relax for a couple of days. Spring had arrived with its new promise. He wondered how the Injuns were doing or whether they'd disbanded, and whether Aggie was working full time now. He'd lost the appetite for life on the streets. By the very act of staying on a path of retribution, his life was allowed to be manoeuvred by Dumbledore. He needed a way to break or at least erode that situation without upsetting Hannah.

What would Miss Tremble have done? He wandered down to the basement with only a tepid hope the fairy-angel might appear, so he wasn't surprised when she didn't. The whole house was steeped in the Tremble's magic anyway and he could sense their tri-presence everywhere. He sorted out books and documents, deciding which he would take back with him next term and what to leave behind. Granny's notes were copious; he'd always meant to examine them more thoroughly.

On the third day he rose up again and took piles of Granny's notes into the garden pavilion; he did his best thinking within little Anna's favourite place. An hour passed; it was very advanced magic that he was studying; he thumbed through several sheets trying to organise them and to grasp their relationship with each other – then stared in astonishment.

Granny's sketches were always shaky but there was no mistake about what he was seeing. He reached into his flatbag and took out the forgotten rock he'd picked up from the mirror room floor: it matched Granny's drawing! Here was the very stone she had created over six hundred years ago. She had even given it a name: _The Philosopher's Stone._ He began to read furiously now. This was the relic that a man named Nicholas Flamel had, under the influence and manipulations of Albus Dumbledore, stolen from Miss Tremble early in the twentieth century, breaking her heart as he carried out his heinous crime.

Furious excitement gripped Harry. This was what Dumbledore had truly been hiding under its protected access from the third floor – not the mirror but this old rock! Somehow he had attempted to protect the priceless stone within the mirror. Why and how it had come out so easily at Harry's feet was a mystery. At the time he'd had no interest or use for it whatsoever. But now... If nothing else he would keep it from Albus Bloody Dumbledore! It would NEVER be returned to the school but remain shielded here in his home. Perhaps he might even...

He carried it down to the foundations to try out the instructions. A silver cauldron he took – _NOT goblin silver,_ admonished Granny's account – but virgin silver of the purest quality. Into this he placed the stone then added several ounces of lead shot from Granny's supplies. He squinted again at the instructions: they could not be simpler. Two hours were spent distilling sufficient water, sterile and untainted, which were then poured into the vessel. Granny's instructions reassured him that the stone itself would now do all the work: _An entire day might not be needed, but a full night must pass._ He left it alone and went back upstairs.

In the morning he decanted the remaining liquid into bottles which he labelled 'Elixir of Life'. The small pellets still residing in the cauldron were now of gold, and Harry had no doubt it was pure and not Leprechaun's fakery.

Only on completion of this operation did Harry break down and weep; he was three and half years too late to save Granny. She came to him then, Miss Tremble the fairy-angel, and her thoughts mingled with his, comforting the boy and thanking him for restoring what was hers.

 _My soul can continue to its rest now, Harry Potter, but my heart ever remains with... the boy who may live forever._

.

Remembering

Harry and Hannah were truly reconciled to each other on his return to Hogwarts. The first meeting was awkward. Hannah was tormented with regret and self-hatred while Harry was exceptionally tender in his reassurances. Much time was spent cautiously kissing to seal the new bond. Susan and Leanne were all soppy smiles.

One person without any smiles was the Headmaster. He was furious at being unable to locate Harry all through the Easter holidays, and sceptical at Harry's claim he'd been 'around here and there.'

"Harry, will you give me your word that you never left the safety of Hogwarts?"

"I swear on my mother's life, Professor, I did take the opportunity to search for a way out – but discovered nothing! I remain your captive and slave forever so long as we both shall live." Which annoyed Dumbledore even more at the ambiguities in Potter's reply, and even the trace of a threat. Had he been outwitted by the eleven-year old? Or was he telling the truth? After all, his mother's life could not be forfeit.

The Headmaster was roused from these reveries very late one evening by a pounding on his office door. "Come in, Minerva."

"Albus, there has been a terrible... accident. Can you come?"

He sighed and followed her downstairs. What now?

"Fred Weasley has been badly burned. He and his brother were at Hagrid's cabin tonight. Draco informed me that Hagrid has been raising a dragon can you believe! His cabin is half gone. Dog's dead. Hagrid is distraught. What are we to do?"

They emerged outside the castle's main doors and walked around for a better view. The hut was still glowing and smouldering, marked by a tall column of smoke extended upwards into the night. They could hear Hagrid wailing from where they stood.

"We must send for Fred's parents."

"Already done, Albus. Fred is in the hospital wing. Poppy assures me he is out of danger but... oh, Albus."

"What is it?"

"Disfigured. Deformed beyond belief. His wand forearm is partly gone too; she could not save it."

"Then he cannot... he will not be able to perform magic very well if at all?"

She shook her head. "Molly says she's taking him out. He can't attend any school of magic if he's unable to cast spells."

"But this is a tragedy! I hate to say it but those boys, being forever up to mischief, were bound, sooner or later, to come to grief even in a place as secure and safe as Hogwarts."

"I entirely agree, Albus."

They wandered back inside. "You say Draco was out after curfew?"

"After midnight! That cannot go unpunished."

"No, of course not, but that would mean George Weasley..."

"Headmaster, where he leads, Fred follows, and how can we punish Draco and not punish George?"

"You are right, of course, but delay the detention for a week or two out of respect for Molly."

"Of course."

By midday, the story was all over the school. Harry was determined to take note of all details and names of any accident, injury, and death that occurred in Hogwarts in future, for fear of losing Hannah again. She could hear him mumbling to himself repeatedly, _"Fred Weasley ... Fred Weasley ... serious burns May 1992"_ and furtively asking Ernie: "You don't happen to know the name of Hagrid's dog, do you?"

But he felt compelled to steal a five-year diary out of McGonagall's office when, at the end of the month, there was an additional, far greater tragedy. For some unknown and astonishing reason, the Headmaster had persuaded his deputy that the two detentions should be served with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. Neither George nor Draco returned alive. There were rumours of a monster attacking unicorns in the Forest and that Hagrid had been commissioned to investigate. Amazingly, Hagrid had divided the group, leaving the boys without his protection. The school was closed immediately by order of the governors. Hagrid was to be tried for criminal negligence. Dumbledore was suspended, but before he left, Harry noticed, he secretly placed a tracking charm on Harry and insisted that the boy return to the Dursleys for the summer. And he did.

.

Meet The Dursleys

Mrs Abbott drove Hannah over to meet the Dursleys, and when she discovered how ultra-respectable and polite the couple were, and how neatly kept the spare bedroom, she allowed Hannah to stay 'for a few days in Harry's home.' She'd had no reason to look in Dudley's cupboard during her visit of course, nor to inspect the cellar.

"So, Harry," said Mrs Abbott once the three had sat down together in the best front room while the Dursleys served them tea then went back to working in the kitchen, "how are you enjoying your classes at Hogwarts?"

"I like the magical subjects, but Hannah and I are being held back because some of the teaching methods aren't very good. There's no support for ambitious students who do extra work in their own time, and our improvements aren't evened-out over all subjects, so moving us forward a year wouldn't work. I'm thinking of asking my aunt if she'll write to the Deputy Headmistress to enquire if we can selectively choose to sit in different year classes. Personally, I think Hannah might be good enough to finish her NEWTs by the sixth year, and I could be too."

Mrs Abbott blinked and looked back and forth between Harry and Hannah. "Astonishing! I never sat my NEWTs because I didn't do well in the OWLs and preferred to leave early to advance my prospects in the Muggle world."

"Yes, Hannah told me you work in Information Technology. But you kept your magic, right?"

"Of course!" Mrs Abbott took a small wand out of her handbag and swished up a few sparks and a weak Lumos. She shrugged her shoulders ruefully. "Oh well, it helps with the housework but yes, I have become a bit rusty."

"Your magic's fine, Mum!" said Hannah. "Hogwarts never gave you the help you needed or you'd have got your OWLs. You were pushed towards a single opportunity to sit OWLs when you weren't quite ready. Harry and I won't be able to sit our OWLs even when we _are_ ready!"

"So, you think if I write to McGonagall..."

"That would be wonderful, Mrs Abbott!" said Harry. "I wish more parents were pro-active with their children's education. And you must resist any interference from the Headmaster should he poke his nose in, because McGonagall is the one who handles the curriculum."

They finished tea, then waved their goodbyes, and Mrs Abbott drove off – with Hannah promising to call her to arrange a pickup on another day.

Later, at the close of the evening and as they walked upstairs, Hannah said, "Your aunt and uncle are bit uumm... freakish, Harry. Oh, don't get me wrong; they're really, really nice waiting on us hand and foot but... a bit... stiff and robotic don't you think? Hedge trimmed to a millimetre? Using tweezers to pull out weeds in the path?"

"Erm... yeah, they had a very strict upbringing."

"Poor things."

"Yeah."

"Goodnight then, Harry."

They kissed on the landing.

"Goodnight, Hannah. Sweet dreams."

Harry lay awake for some time that night thinking of how Hannah had looked in the mirror he'd seen at Hogwarts. Then he laughed himself to sleep as he recalled Dumbledore's expression after he'd discovered his precious stone had been stolen.

.

Home Sweet Home

It was the third day when Harry offered to show Hannah his real home at Much Wittering.

"But I thought..."

"No, this place here in Privet Drive belongs to the Dursleys who took me in after my mum and dad died. When I'm old enough I'll settle down in the Potter home I inherited of course."

"But..."

"Your mother did say you could stay 'for a few days in Harry's home,' right?"

"That's right, she did, but..."

"I couldn't show it to your mum because it's shielded by a powerful protective spell that only those really, really close to me can pass."

"Your parents must have loved you very, very much, Harry."

"Uuh... yeah... yeah, they did."

Before leaving, Harry carefully transferred Dumbledore's tracking spell to Dudley then compelled Dudley to remain in the house but 'twirl about a bit'.

And so the happy couple passed the rest of the summer together in the living home at Wittering. They enjoyed the garden which Hannah thought was beautifully wild and much more wonderful than the Dursleys' formal enclosure. The couple spent many days sightseeing in Muggle London. School supplies were purchased in Diagon Alley and Harry impressed Hannah with an 'accidental' glimpse into his family vault and hoped she might mention how rich he was to her parents some day. He knew, of course, the enchantment would prevent her speaking about his Wittering home. The pair studied together in the gazebo where Harry's best thinking took place. Sometimes Hannah thought he pushed knowledge straight into her mind, because her magic progressed so rapidly.

The days passed swiftly: some were spent at the new civic centre in uptown Wittering, some at Hannah's home, and even the occasional one at the Dursleys watching a movie on the new Sony TV they'd bought Harry for Dudley's birthday...

.

A Treasured Possession

The final day of the holiday arrived all too soon.

"Hannah..." said Harry, as he removed the lady's wristwatch that little Anna had gifted him. "This ancient heirloom is my most treasured possession. Would you wear it for me?"

"Oh, Harry, I couldn't. Not if–"

"–It will protect you – at least from physical attacks – if I'm not around, and if you set the third hand to four it will take you safely to my home and back. Would you wear it always, and especially on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow?"

"Harry! Tell me you ARE coming back to Hogwarts with me?"

He sighed. "I might be taking a more direct route. It depends whether Dumbledore is reinstated as Headmaster. I've told you that he abducted me, and I fear he will do the same again. Yes, I could hide in my Wittering home but then I wouldn't get to see you. I also want to learn. Yes, I'm well ahead on most subjects but so are you now. Hogwarts is a unique opportunity I don't want to waste. But if I take the train voluntarily, Dumbledore will have won. He'll think I've given in. I don't want to give him that satisfaction."

"Alright, Harry, but I'll really miss you on the train."

"I'll miss you too, Hannah."

He didn't tell her he had another reason to attend Hogwarts: that he wanted above all else to see the end, to watch the suffering and the light finally die in the bastard's eyes.

.

Running Away

At eleven o'clock precisely the next morning, Harry sat down in front of the television with Dudley, and imagined Hannah getting onto the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross. She'd probably stretch for the handle to hoist herself onboard with a glimpse of her ankle sticking out backwards from her robes. Might she glance then over her shoulder in hope he'd be on the platform? Would the tip of her tongue peep out through anxious lips? And her pigtails droop as if she needed rescuing? He sighed with his longing to be with her.

At eleven fifteen exactly, he transferred Dumbledore's tracking charm back to himself from Dudley.

At eleven thirty he ran away.

He was halfway across Surrey, sitting in a roadside diner sipping tea by the time Dumbledore's self-satisfied expression showed in the doorway. Harry grabbed his crutch and hobbled quickly through the kitchens heading for the back exit, and trying to show as much pain on his face as possible.

"OY!" A Muggle cook waved his cleaver at Harry as he shuffled past.

"Sorry! Emergency!"

He was hiding in the shadow of a truck in the carpark when he sensed someone behind him: Dumbledore.

"Harry, it's not safe here. Can you not trust that I have your best interests at heart and that you will be safe at Hogwarts?"

"Like Fred and George, you mean? And Ron? And Hermione Granger? Not to mention wotsisname – the big man, his dog called Fang, and also a virtual Quidditch team of Slytherins? I bet you don't even know their names!"

"Harry, I assure you that–"

"–What have you in store this year for the children in your care!" stormed Harry. "Another Troll? Or something worse?"

"Harry, you're still very young. You can't possibly understand. There are bigger issues."

"Bigger than being torn apart and eaten? I'm not coming, Dumbledore and you can't make me. You're not my legal guardian."

"Harry, I must insist–"

Harry tried to run but doubled up on the floor screaming and clutching his foot. People were turning to stare. "Help me! He's making me go in his car!"

"Harry, please..."

Dumbledore sighed, reached down for Harry's arm, and Disapparated.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _The character deaths are essential to emphasise what might have been the results of Dumbledore's neglect of all the students if Harry had not behaved as he did in the original story._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	8. The Secret Chamber

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. He meets Granny Tremble (in three forms) who teaches him to control his magic. She also warns him of Dumbledore's manipulations. She dies, leaving Harry with a home but no money. He hardens up on the streets, thieving and fighting. At Hogwarts he's sorted into Hufflepuff and befriends Hannah Abbot. Several tragedies highlight the Headmaster's negligence yet at the end of the next summer, Dumbledore Apparates him away to begin his second year at the school. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 8**

 **The Secret Chamber**

* * *

.

Hogwarts Bound

When Harry came out of the blackness of Dumbledore's Disapparition from the roadside diner's carpark, he was not where he'd expected to be at all. No hospital wing. No healer rushing to treat his apparently-injured foot. Even Dumbledore himself was not present. Harry found himself at one end of a corridor on the Hogwarts Express. Had the Headmaster realised he was exaggerating the pain? That his foot only ached a little? Impossible. He'd simply dumped him on the train so he'd arrive at Hogwarts normally, not caring if he was suffering or not. At least the Headmaster definitely had no idea Harry might, if he so wished, Disapparate back to Wittering where he could never be traced. But then... then Harry wouldn't see Hannah for who knew how long? Forever?

Keeping up the subterfuge in case word got back to Dumbledore, Harry leaned heavily on his crutch and hobbled off laboriously in search of his girlfriend. He passed a near-empty compartment of Slytherins, and then one of Gryffindors with a glum-looking Dean something-or-other and... an Irish boy who's name Harry had entirely forgotten. Opposite them was a red-haired firstie writing in her diary. Another lonely soul, no doubt. Harry trudged on by.

"HARRY!" It was Hannah squealing at him and waving her arms from a compartment near-full of Huffles: Susan and Leanne, Ernie and Justin! Eagerly they budged along so he could sit next to Hannah. It was good to be back with his family.

"What happened?" said Hannah.

"Dumbledore," said Harry mournfully, "snatched me again. Seems to think I need protecting."

"From what?" frowned Ernie.

"No idea. You-Know-Who's gone. The war's over. You don't suppose he's one of these zealots marooned on a mental island who thinks we're still at war, do you?"

"He plays his cards close to his chest for sure," said Justin.

"But he doesn't seem to notice that nobody else is playing," said Leanne.

"Well my aunt thinks he's only a few clowns short of a circus," said Susan.

"Speaking of which, he's just hired one. Have you seen this year's Defence books?" said Justin. "I mean, _Magical Me?_ Seriously? Who _is_ this Gilderoy Lockhart we saw at Blotts?"

Susan and Leanne uttered little squeals of delight. "He's adorable." – "Yummy _and_ cute."

The boys winced, shaking their heads to make clear their bemusement.

"So he's the new Defence teacher?" said Harry. "I thought he just wrote the first-year books?"

Ernie nodded. "Yes, hadn't you heard? Quirrell just up and left. Nobody knows why."

"Except Dumbledore. I bet he knows," growled Harry in a low voice. "So you're saying this new teacher is as useless as Quirrell?"

"Worse," said Justin, "but without the garlic. Although... something about him does smell a bit fishy."

"Well, Hannah and I bought all course books for second to fifth year so–"

"–What!"

"Yeah, we got permission from McGonagall to select higher classes in some subjects so we're not held back. The third and fourth-year Defence books are not by Lockhart so even if he's rubbish in those classes as well, we can do some private study with the course books and library books."

"Wow! You must be like... soaking it up!" cried Leanne. "I mean, you study hard, but all Hufflepuffs do. What's your secret?"

"Well, we're study-buddies," said Harry.

In response to the puzzled frowns, Hannah explained, "Harry and I work together. Two heads are better than one."

"You cheat?" said Susan.

"No, we help each other learn more efficiently with less effort!" cried Hannah.

Harry grinned slyly. "Okay, I break the rules a bit because I don't do any classwork or homework that I already thoroughly know. The teachers gave up deducting House points and Detentions because I ignored them and I'm not sure all of them realise I'm now officially in Hufflepuff. Anyway, they knew I understood the work whenever they asked me questions. With the time saved I can support Hannah one-on-one. We're all family, right?"

The others looked at one another. "So that's how you've been doing it!" said Leanne. "You must be ultra Hufflepuffs!"

"It's only because by contrast a lot of the teaching methods here are slowing everyone else down – plus, of course, Harry's so brilliant," smiled Hannah, gripping his arm.

"No honestly, I'm not, I..." He couldn't tell them he'd had a massive head start being taught by the Trembles, often with knowledge being put directly into his mind – and now, so had Hannah.

.

A Petrifying Experience

The term proceeded smoothly at first. As expected, Lockhart's first class was a pathetic waste of time so Harry and Hannah began attending his third-year lessons after that – which were not much better except where they followed the theory outlined in the textbooks. This at least was revision with a few new sections of interest.

The weeks passed by. Dumbledore seems to be leaving Harry well alone which was how he liked it. At Halloween, they heard Filch's cat had been petrified, and there were ridiculous stories circulating that some secret chamber or other had been opened. Apart from that, nothing special happened, and Harry was content to refine his studies and progress while remaining in Hogwarts close enough to Dumbledore that he could carry out his ultimate plan of retribution.

In November there were rumours a first-year Gryffindor had been petrified, but Madam Sprout was making a potion to cure him. A freezing spell didn't seem unusual to Harry; students often fell foul of jinxes and hexes because the staff generally ignored bullying. Yet there was a buzz even in the Hufflepuff common room about this particular occurrence. Graffiti had been scrawled on a wall. Somehow everyone felt it was linked to the secret chamber that had been opened. Harry tried to focus on his studies.

In December, a duelling club was announced. Harry had honed his fighting skills on the streets of Wittering but only against Muggles. Although he had used fists, feet, and covert magic in those exchanges, might this be an opportunity to practise more wand-focused defensive tactics? _Why?_ he asked himself: the magical community was at peace and there was no specific incentive for ordinary people to train as if they were soldiers. Still, it might be fun as a sport. The problem was he needed to keep his true abilities secret. Oh well, simply observing could be enjoyable too...

He was very disappointed to discover that Lockhart was the instructor, and Snape was there too. The duels were quite tame. Harry kept well to the back of the spectators, leaning heavily on his crutch and trying to look vulnerable and useless, nevertheless, Lockhart singled him out to fight Blaise Zabini.

Harry hobbled onto the platform, stumbling a little for show, then messed around swapping his crutch to his left arm so he could fumble out his Ollivander wand – which he dropped and had a struggle picking up again. Sniggers were coming from the Slytherin group but that was in Harry's favour. The more humiliating his defeat, the less Dumbledore would be prepared when it came to a final confrontation with the Headmaster.

To begin the duel, Lockhart had actually counted up to two when Harry suddenly remembered he'd long since claimed to have a scar curse shielding him. But Hannah now wore his protective watch, and Snape was watching him very intently. Harry dropped his wand again to give himself time to think.

"Sorry ... not quite ready..."

There was open laughter now. Zabini was grinning but resumed a professional-looking stance once Lockhart began counting again: "One ... two ... three!"

Zabini's disarming spell would not be regarded as an aggressive attack so Harry allowed his Ollivander wand to be spun out of his hand.

The Slytherins cheered. Zabini took a bow. Shame-faced, Harry let his staff skitter off the stage while he crawled to retrieve his wand.

"Perhaps Potter was still... not quite... ready?" gloated Snape. "I suggest he... tries again."

Harry sighed and scrambled upright, lifting his right leg slightly and almost hopping on his left.

Zabini didn't wait for the count. "Stupefy!"

Harry only half-lifted his wand while wandlessly and silently casting a tiny blasting spell just ahead of him to deflect the stunner. The small mid-air explosion was quite effective. Snape winced, and Harry swore he began to reach out to rub the hand that Harry's watch had smashed last year.

"The boy is cheating!" cried Snape. "He's invoking a protective curse!"

"I'm not invoking it, po-face! You know I can't stop it!"

There were outcries for and against but eventually it was decided Harry should not be allowed to participate. At least he hadn't let his House down too badly.

"He couldn't beat you, Harry," said Ernie, clapping him on the shoulder as Susan handed him his staff.

Hannah performed quite well in her duel against Vincent Crabbe. She made him stagger and even dance a little in a stumpy sort of way. The watch didn't protect her against magic of course, so she had her work cut out casting shields when, frustrated, Crabbe began blindly shooting curse after curse at her – feeble though they were.

Three houses applauded her enthusiastically when Crabbe's wand was knocked to the floor by a disarming spell. Harry was delighted to see she could handle herself so effectively.

It had been an evening with much interest, but Harry was resolved to take a back seat in future contests, and would only be there for Hannah.

Snow began to fall in the night. By next morning it had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of term was cancelled. Harry took the opportunity to sneak Hannah with him behind the tall shelf partition in the common room to have a quick cuddle.

"Harr–ee...!"

"It's alright, no one can see us," he reassured the blushing girl.

They felt, as well as heard, the crash of the barrel door opening. Leanne could be heard shouting hysterically, "Have you heard? Justin's been petrified!"

Finally this brought home to Harry how serious these attacks were becoming. Justin was one of their own! Someone he knew well and whose company he enjoyed. He was family.

Virtually every Hufflepuff wanted to go up and visit him in the infirmary wing but that would have been impractical. In the end, Ernie and Susan represented the house. They were aghast on their return. "He looks awful," wailed Susan. "Preserved, but rigid as a statue."

What was going on? Harry couldn't help wondering if this was another scheme of Dumbledore's. At least there didn't seem to be any risk of death, and everyone seemed to fully accept that their head of house's solution would cure the condition. The attacks were only harsh pranks, but anger was beginning once again to arise within Harry Potter. The Headmaster was supposed to protect the children in his care. He'd even abducted Harry under the pretext that he'd be _safe_ at Hogwarts! Now kids were being frozen left, right and centre! Was there any way to stop this before someone got seriously hurt?

.

Santa's Little Helper

Harry decided to stay over Christmas to keep watch. Hannah was not happy to leave him, but seemed to trust him more. "Easter," he said, "I promise you Easter if it is within my powers." They exchanged owls every day and Harry kept her messages under his pillow so he could re-read them just before falling asleep – Hannah's scent soothing his nostrils and his feelings of isolation. He wondered if she kept his letters to read over and over like he did. He would try harder every letter to make them nicer for her.

Patrolling the corridors with his map, Harry was intent on finding Justin's attacker. He'd previously noticed a name disappear from the map before he could read it and wondered if there might be a hidden room that wouldn't show on the map. Try as he might, he never found anything and each night trudged back to his empty dorm in low spirits.

He was about to enter as usual when he heard a faint sound from within. Instinctively he rendered himself undetectable, and drew his best wand. It was impossible for a student to be back, so if Dumbledore, or worse, Snape, was searching within and found Hannah's letters, he'd not hold back this time! Silently he eased open the door... then dived through, hurling curses before him.

There was a shriek, and a figure fell to the floor. Harry stared in dismay. It had merely been one of the house-elves tidying up and stoking the fire! Aghast at his own impulsive violence, he moved cautiously forward to see if he could save the creature.

"Harry Potter, sir..."

The intruder wasn't wearing Hogwarts attire so Harry kept his wand pointed straight at its pitiful head. Had this been the instrument used to harm students? "Do not move one inch, I'm warning you, elf! What are you doing here?"

"Dobby couldn't find your home, sir. Dobby sealed off Platform nine and three-quarters but Harry Potter never..." He broke off into a coughing fit. Blood was trickling out of his mouth. There was a long gash across his throat. Harry still had the map folded in his left hand.

"Was that you I almost glimpsed on my...?" Of course! It made sense: elves could vanish off to a secret chamber! "Do you come out from a hidden room to attack? Where is it? ... Tell me!"

The elf's breathing was very laboured now. "Not ... Dobby ... sir. Dobby ... came ... warn ... Harry Potter..."

"Threaten me? Did Dumbledore send you with a warning to submit to his demands?"

But the elf was dead.

Harry paced up and down cursing himself, cursing the elf, and cursing the world in general. Had Dumbledore been using a house elf to threaten and petrify students? Or had the creature simply blundered accidentally into his particular dormitory? That was so unlikely he could give it no credibility. It had to be that Dumbledore sent it to spy or unsettle him, probably both. Yes, as a warning that he could never escape Dumbledore's surveillance, whether from himself, portraits, magical observations, or elves. Had this dark elf been sent to test Harry?

"Stupid useless elf! Sneaks into my room in the middle of the night to threaten me with his master's warning! How dare he!" He shook his head. There was nothing for it but to vanish the corpse and cleanse the carpet. Dumbledore must never know.

.

Playing a Part

Months passed by without further incident. Easter arrived and, as he'd promised, Harry sneaked out by the secret passage to spend the free days with Hannah. She was thirteen now and Harry felt it was time to invite both her parents to the Potter residence in Much Wittering to show that he was serious about his friendship with their daughter.

They were much impressed with the protective concealment of the property, and that Harry had needed to lead them in before they could even see the house! And what a house! Mr Abbott, being a keen gardener himself, was ecstatic over the rare plants he was shown and begged Harry for cuttings.

Sadly, the holidays were a high that would soon be let down. On returning to Hogwarts, he was accosted by the Headmaster and taken to his office.

"Harry, I insist you tell me where you have been these last two weeks." Dumbledore's face was dark. There was no pretence of friendliness anymore.

"Around. Here and there."

"You did not attend any meals."

"I've been stockpiling buns and things so I could get some time to myself. Frankly, I don't enjoy your constant surveillance. What right or reason do you have to keep me prisoner here?"

The Headmaster's demeanour softened. "Harry, my boy, you're completely free to roam the castle and its extensive grounds; where else would you want to be?"

"But why can I not leave like other kids do?"

"You really want to return to the Dursleys?" There was a trace of a smirk behind his beard. _He knows what they're like_ thought Harry.

"Anywhere's better than being captive in this jailhouse! Freedom is a basic human right! If you were a Muggle you'd be arrested. Why are you holding me here?"

"For your own safety, Harry. I'm protecting you."

"From what?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Voldemort, Harry. He's still out there."

Harry stared in astonishment for a few moments ... then burst out laughing. "Geddout o' town! You're losing it old man. You-Know-Who is dead. I killed the motherfucker. I was there – you weren't! I remember a flash of green and the look of astonishment in his eyes as he keeled over. Take it from me, he's dead. Don't you even read the news? THE – WAR – IS – OVER! Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"Harry, I have information that he remains alive in some form, but with diminished powers. He has now stolen an artifact that has effectively made him immortal and infinitely rich."

"You know what, I've heard there are flying saucers circling the Earth waiting to take over, but I'm definitely not going to spend the rest of my life in your friggin' fortress-prison hiding from something that doesn't even exist."

"I need to know where you've been. Did you spend time with Miss Abbott?"

"None of your fucking business! Keep your nose out of my affairs you smear of maggot shit." He rose to his feet, wondering whether to attack the Headmaster right there or wait for an advantage on a better day. "If you so much as look at Hannah I'll... I'll kill you!"

Dumbledore seemed to swell with power. "Where does this hatred come from, Harry? I have never wished you harm." He seemed to be pondering a new course of action. "Perhaps Miss Abbott is not the best company for you, my boy."

Shaking with rage, Harry raised his wand. "I swear on my magic I will kill you one day, Albus Fucking Dumbledore. So mote it be!"

There were gasps from the surrounding portraits. The Headmaster reeled back, clearly shocked. "Harry, what have you done! The spell you have invoked acts as an Unbreakable Vow! You cannot succeed in your endeavour. You have effectively sentenced yourself to death."

"You think so?"

"Believe me, Harry, I know it for a certainty." The old man clasped his hands together, thinking deeply how to proceed, then decided to change direction. "There has been another death at the school."

"What!" Harry sank down into his chair again.

"Swear to me, Harry, that you left Hogwarts over Easter."

"I solemnly swear I did NOT!" Harry had learnt in the gutters of Wittering, how to show sincerity while lying. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you leave Hogwarts? Or did you sneak back to kill – who is it? Who now has been killed by your utter fucking incompetence!"

A dimness took the Headmaster's eye. "It was not I but the monster from the Chamber of Secrets that killed Miss Penelope Clearwater."

"A monster? You knew this? You knew there was a monster? Why didn't you evacuate the school!"

"Harry, it would not have been safe if–"

"–You kept Hogwarts Prison open for me, didn't you? You endangered hundred of children just to keep me under your thumb?"

Harry stood up and, forgetting to limp, strode to the door. "Watch your back, Dumb Balls. I promise you won't see me coming."

He slammed the door on the way out.

The Headmaster released a long breath of sorrows then reach into the cabinet behind him to pull out a large potions bottle. It was almost empty. He drank the remains then shuddered. "Severus, you can come out now."

From beyond the huge bookshelves that dominated the study, a tall figure in black emerged.

"You heard?" said the Headmaster.

"Every word."

Dumbledore held out the empty bottle and Snape took it.

"Is the pain worse?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It's a sorry end to my life, Severus. I only hope there is time before..."

"...before the boy must play his part?"

The Headmaster inclined his head. "You know the prophecy."

"Why then not inform him of his duty?"

"He is too young to bear the burden. Let him mature. Perhaps in time he will accept that I care for him. Then I will permit him to complete his vow if he swears to do as I ask. He will see it as a mercy killing but his natural sense of guilt will, I believe, bend him to my wishes."

Outside the door, invisible, silent, undetectable, Harry Potter smiled and went to rejoin his girlfriend.

.

The Lost Girl

Towards the end of the school year, Hogwarts was being closed down until further notice. Even Harry had to leave because, once again, Dumbledore was suspended. A girl had gone missing. Aurors had been called in to search the castle from end to end but it was a hopeless quest.

The lost girl had been another Weasley! Harry carefully wrote her name in the five-year diary he'd stolen from McGonagall. _Ginevra Weasley..._ He smoothed his hand over the words, trying his best to care about someone he'd never known and striving to remember what she looked like. She didn't deserve to be lost, alone, or... taken? Was she suffering as he had in his early years? Had she been... broken? Was she even alive? Why hadn't anyone saved her? Something did touch his heart finally, and he even managed to squeeze out a teardrop.

The total loss to the family must be unbearable. There'd be no Weasleys left at this rate. He hadn't known any of them personally except for the twins but he did begin to feel something for them all and wondered if he ought to send an owl to Fred who was still being treated at St. Mungo's and might have to remain there permanently.

At least the petrified children were restored at last, and all the surviving students returned to their homes on the Hogwarts Express – Harry officially included this time.

The Weasleys were in the news again only weeks later. Apparently Mr Weasley had won some money and after lengthy discussions they'd decided a few weeks break might help them to grieve without the empty spaces in their home to remind them of their pain. There was quite a decent article on the front page of the Daily Prophet: _"Ron and Ginny and George wouldn't have wanted us to mope," said a tearful Mrs Weasley, as they set sail on an international Portkey last week._ There was a mournful photo of Percy with his parents and an older brother. Harry really wanted Hannah to know he cared, so he stared hard trying to imprint the surviving Weasleys on his mind in case she asked. He noted Percy still carried Ron's rat, and Harry worried he wasn't sure of its name. Was it Fang? No, that was somebody's cat, wasn't it? Perhaps Hannah wouldn't know anyway so best not mention it.

Hogwarts students were reassured by the early arrival of the assigned textbooks lists together with blank Hogsmeade permission slips. Apparently the DMLE had declared the castle secure and the Weasley girl herself must have been the murderer who'd opened the chamber but presumably died in a battle with her own monster, thus trapping their corpses inside forever. Harry suspected Fudge might have had a hand in that assumption.

It was a long summer in the pleasant company of Hannah and occasionally her parents. The couple were inseparable and did everything together from playing with her pigtails in the pagoda to them watching Terminator 2 on his Sony TV while Dudley crouched miserably in his cupboard, listening to their squeals and laughter. Harry compelled his aunt to sign his Hogsmeade permission slip. With Dumbledore suspended, all would be well at Hogwarts. But what of Harry's oath to kill the devious Headmaster?

.

That Icy Feeling

On the return trip to Hogwarts, Harry was in the toilet of the Hogwarts Express when an icy feeling gripped his chest. The water froze in the basin as he was washing his hands. A terrible fear gripped him. There was a scrabbling of claws at the door and he was thankful that he'd locked it. A child began screaming in his mind and he fell into grey oblivion where all purpose ceased to exist...

"Harry! Harry!" Hannah banging on the door woke him. His hands felt burnt where the ice had melted.

"I'm alright!"

He let himself out and Hannah flung her arms around him. "They got Sally-Anne!"

He stopped himself – just in time – from saying, 'Who?' and said instead, "Oh, no, not Sally..." then, " _Who_ got her?"

"The Dementors! They swept past here. She tried to stop them! Gryffindors are so reckless!"

With Hannah's help, Harry staggered weakly back to their compartment wishing he taken his crutch with him to the loo. He knew all about Dementors from his studies of course, could even cast a wispy, incorporeal Patronus, but an actual encounter was quite different. Harry simply hadn't been prepared.

Ernie gave him the legs off his chocolate frog and Harry began to feel a little better. He got out his diary and whispered to Ernie, "You don't happen to know how to spell Sally's last name, do you?"

On their arrival, they discovered there were more Dementors prowling around the castle, and nobody seemed to know why. Many supposed the Ministry were adding them as extra security in case the Weasley girl and her monster might yet emerge from their underground lair. Dumbledore had insisted the Dementors be kept out of the castle itself and that _he_ was essential to keep it that way. The children needed his protection and Fudge would be blamed if any of them were attacked by one of his Dementors. The Ministry and board of governors had relented and allowed the Headmaster to return to Hogwarts. They could hardly blame Dumbledore for the loss of the Weasley girl when they themselves were responsible for Sally-Anne Perks.

.

Scrubbers End

The very next day, Hannah was jubilant to find herself number one in their year, though out of respect for the Weasleys and the Perks, she refrained from over-exuberant displays. At lunchtime, a small delegation of Hufflepuffs approached the Gryffindor table to commiserate with Percy about the loss of his sister and also former friends of Sally-Anne Perks – sparse though they were. As the only Hufflepuff who had mixed with the Gryffindors, Harry was pushed forward to initiate small talk and offer condolences.

"So, uumm, Percy, we want you to know you have the support of Hufflepuff House. The Weasleys have suffered more than their fair share these last two years."

"Thank you, Harry," said Percy in a low monotone. "These are dark days for us but we're resolved to press forward optimistically. I greatly appreciate what you're doing here. Thanks, everyone."

"I think you were right to take a good long holiday," said Justin. "Take time for quite reflection not only on what you had, but what you still have."

Percy nodded. "We have been blessed, it's true."

"How's erm..." Harry glanced quickly in his diary but could find no entry for the rat. "How's Scrubbers doing now? Did he enjoy the sunshine?"

"Scabbers, you mean? We erm... he was getting very old, Harry. We did him a kindness. His last days were spent sunbathing on the sands before we accepted an offer for him to have several organs gently removed. I think that's the Muggle way of saying a slow musical procession then a merciful laying to rest in a... _lab rattery_ I think they called it. All very discreet. Muggles really love their pets.

Harry and Hannah gaped at each other. Hannah ran off to be sick. Harry wrote it all down in his diary.

"Harry, could I have a quite word?" added Percy. He lowered his voice. "Dad said to tell you erm.. not to go looking for... ahem... Sirius Black."

"Who?"

"Oh, nothing... that's okay then."

Harry thought his advice very peculiar but soon put it down to Percy being distraught at the loss of his beloved rat on top of his brothers and sister. Within minutes he'd put it out of his mind and went to comfort Hannah who now looking decidedly green.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Most character deaths are essential to emphasise what might have been the results of Dumbledore's neglect of all the students if Harry had not behaved as he did in the original story. The story was never intended to be a bloodbath but it's interesting that it might work out that way but for Harry as presented by JKR. Break him, and this is the likely result. Two more chapters to go._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	9. Exposed

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers his magic and becomes empowered. He meets Granny Tremble (in three forms) who teaches him to control his magic. She also warns him of Dumbledore's manipulations. She dies, leaving Harry with a home but no money. He hardens up on the streets, thieving and fighting. At Hogwarts he's sorted into Hufflepuff and befriends Hannah Abbot. Several tragedies highlight the Headmaster's negligence, and in his second year at the school, Harry made a magical vow to kill Dumbledore. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 9**

 **Exposed**

* * *

.

Scars

Following desperate pleas from students and staff during the preceding year, there was a new Defence teacher at the start of Harry's third year. Professor Lockhart had been replaced by Professor Lupin, and the new textbooks appeared much more interesting. Harry and Hannah were determined to study harder and more effectively, and to try third-year lessons initially, even though they'd progressed further in private study.

Their anticipation was rewarded. Lupin focused more on wand work which was always more fun than theory and studying dull passages in obscure books. A Boggart had been discovered in a wardrobe in the staffroom and the teacher was to show them how to deal with such creatures. He explained how the mutating beast operated and what they should expect when he released it.

"I'd like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical. ... Everyone ready?"

Fearful, long-suppressed images from his childhood rose up within Harry's mind. He wasn't prepared for this. How could he possibly make the abuse he'd suffered seem amusing! But he didn't want to ask for more time; everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

Harry struggled within himself. He had no fear of the Dursleys now, but the horror of his upbringing was deeply etched into his broken psyche. He began to feel physically sick and lurched forward slightly, clinging precariously to his staff. Vaguely he was aware of Neville dressing Snape in his grandmother's clothes. A mummy fell over for Parvati, a banshee fell silent: these all seemed so easy to visualise in a comical way. Harry dared a glance back at the door; could he slip out before his turn? He began to edge away...

"Riddikulus!" yelled Dean.

"Excellent! Harry, you next!"

The classroom swung drunkenly, and terrible yellow light filled Harry's vision. Through it he saw – and felt – A heavy boot kicking out. A punch broke his rib; his feet were strapped to a chair and a leather belt was thrashing down, down, over and over. The pain and fear were unbearable. A terrified little boy was trying to curl up into a ball, shrieking in dreadful agony. There were other cries now too: Leanne was weeping. Parvati ran out of the staffroom squealing in horror. Other students stared in shocked disbelief; one was sick while others turned away, unable to watch. Hannah sagged down to her knees, shaking...

Lupin shouted, "Riddikulus!" but Harry was too far gone. His crutch had been sent flying. He _was_ that little boy on the floor of the cupboard now, knees up to his stomach, knuckles tightly gripping his filthy mattress in a vain attempt to resist the suffering – when he was dragged out again for another beating!

"No – No, Uncle!"

"Shoes off, Harry..."

"Please don't hurt me... please!"

Fingers were undoing his laces. Air reached his bare soles. More screams and gasps. Hannah fainted.

"Merlin!" cried Lupin. "Everybody out!"

The real Harry was crying now. He knew everyone could see the deep, deep scars that would never heal, the deformed feet, and worse of all, his shame for being a freak. The entire magical world would forever know that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was neither strong, nor admirable, but truly, truly, broken.

.

Healed and Honoured

Harry awoke in a place he'd never seen before. Hannah was clinging to him, half across his arm, face to face. He wished he'd not buckled, that he'd been strong instead for his intended mate. What must she feel for him now? Pity? Disappointment? How could he face his Hufflepuff family ever again? Or worse, the Slytherins mockery, should the entire school hear the story – as surely they would.

"Where is this place? How long have I–"

"–less than an hour. This is the hospital wing," said Hannah soothingly. "Madam Pomfrey has... she told me she'd taken the opportunity to start the bones regrowing properly. You'll need to stay in bed till tomorrow."

So it was. But walking alone from the infirmary the next day, Harry tried to fight the shame he felt inside as he trudged back to the Hufflepuff Basement. Hannah would be waiting for him, he felt sure, to offer her support. But the common room was empty when he entered. And the red door was ajar. He knew what that meant.

He was walking normally now but his steps towards the sanctum seemed to take forever. Faces were coming into view. He passed the threshold. Someone closed the door behind him...

"HURRAH!"

"Harry Potter, we, the House of Hufflepuff, are honoured to have you as one of our family," declared Diggory solemnly. "We stand side by side with you now in your emotional trials. What you have suffered, yet won through, is beyond comprehension. We are humbled to have you in our company. Hufflepuff never offer mere physical awards. Instead, you have our utmost admiration, our respect, and our undying support. So mote it be."

"HURRAH!"

Perhaps Harry stood a little straighter. Perhaps he shed a few more tears. He certainly smiled. And Hannah kissed him in front of everyone.

"HURRAH!"

Resolving to boycott Lupin's classes entirely, Harry took to studying fourth-year dark texts in the library instead. Hannah kept him informed of any significant information gleaned from Defence lessons and Harry continued to teach her the more advanced material.

.

The Cavorting Captive

Excitement rose towards the end of October, especially amongst the third-years who had not been allowed to visit Hogsmeade before. The day arrived. Crowds of Hufflepuffs were gathering in their basement preparing to leave, exchanging banter and laughing. Together, with Harry in their midst, they surged joyfully up the steps to the Entrance Hall...

McGonagall blocked the way. "I'm sorry, Potter, but the Headmaster does not think it advisable that you go to Hogsmeade at this time."

"What! But I handed in my permission slip!"

A roar from his comrades supported him.

"Sorry, Potter, but it's out of my hands."

"But why?"

"Potter, be reasonable! There's a madman out there somewhere!"

"What! Then what about my friends, and all the other kids? Why's the Headmaster always got it in for me? Why's he always keeping _me_ locked up!"

But there was no reasoning with the Deputy Headmistress. The crowd swelled around them, mostly Hufflepuffs, but others too. Yet despite their cries of protest, McGonagall would not shift. She headed down to Filch at the gates ahead of them all, clearly to act as an extra sentry.

"Then I'm not going either!" said Hannah, taking Harry's arm.

"No... that's alright. You go ahead with Susan and Leanne. No reason for you to–"

"–HURRAH!" The Hufflepuffs were in a huddle, debating something. Suddenly they broke apart.

"NONE of us are going!" cried Truman. "Cedric, catch up with those others and spread the word. We're a family and Potter's one of us!"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. He'd never known such camaraderie. A party was organised back down in the common room. A feast was smuggled in from the nearby kitchens. Butter beers had been smuggled back in from those who'd gone ahead into Hogsmeade. Harry felt like a hero. It was the best of the new term so far at Hogwarts, and probably ever, not including the day when Hannah promised to be his girlfriend and they'd kissed for the first time.

The intoxicated party marched through Hogwarts in protest. The Great Hall was commandeered for lunch, dominated by their enthusiasm.

"HURRAH! HURRAH! HURRAH!"

Dumbledore was unable to dampen their spirits. He glared at Harry, but Harry, free now of his crutch, was dancing with Hannah to the Prisoner's Waltz while Hufflepuffs joined in the verses: "Death to all tyrants!" and "Freedom for all!" A movement had started. Harry's enforced ignorance and incarceration were becoming known and Dumbledore had to do something about it.

The solution came that evening after the Halloween feast that evening. No sooner had the Hufflepuffs wearily made their way back to their common room than Madam Sprout arrived and was ordering the prefects to take them back to the Great Hall.

"What's going on?" was asked by many.

"Are we all expelled or what?" said another.

As they trudged back into the Hall, Dumbledore made a sweeping wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the walls; another flick, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

It took some time but gradually they learned from the Gryffindors that their Fat Lady portrait had been attacked and the staff were searching the castle for an intruder. Harry made a show of herding Hannah into bedding near the wall with him taking the nearest bag beside her to offer a sense of protection. She smiled at him from her pillow and somehow Harry found himself wishing he could step forward into the magic mirror upstairs and be happily married to her forever and ever.

"Sweet dreams, Harry," were the last murmurs he heard from her before he quickly drifted off to sleep. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful day.

.

The Greater Good

At Christmas, Harry invited the Abbotts to his Wittering home to celebrate the entire holiday together. Even this far south, snow was gently feathering the great Christmas tree in the new Civic Centre. Carols were sung. The band was excellent and hot toddies were passed around. Harry pointed out the improving areas of his hometown as they 'sleighed' around it, pulled by a team of fake reindeer on wheels.

It was a great success but Dumbledore was furious on his return to Hogwarts in the new year.

"You have been a bitter disappointment to me, Harry," said the old man who was looking rather tired and frail.

"Good," said Harry. "I wish I could say the same, but sadly that is impossible because you're exactly as I expected you to be: an arrogant fucking arsehole."

Shocked, Dumbledore visibly cringed. He looked weary. As Harry grew stronger, he seemed to diminish. "You don't understand the whole picture, Harry."

"You've made sure I don't see ANY of the picture!" Harry said angrily.

"You're too young to make your own decisions."

"And you're too old. You look sick, old man. Are you in pain?"

The Headmaster bowed his head. "I confess I have not been well."

"Excellent. I'm delighted."

Even with their past history, Dumbledore struggled to understand the boy's attitude to him. "Please, Harry. Why do you seek to torment me? I have done you no wrong."

Harry spat in the Headmaster's face. "You disgust me. I made an oath in this office to end your despicable life and I intend to carry it out."

"You will fail. You cannot defeat me."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because I'm..."

"Yes?"

The man clutched the edge of his desk to brace himself, gaining time to consider his next words carefully. "Because I'm already dying, Harry. A year or two at most..."

There was a brief silence, then Harry sprang to his feet. "This is cause for celebration! The best news I could have hoped for!"

Dumbledore shook his head. There were real tears in his eyes. "Don't you see, Harry? You will die with me when your vow is broken."

"It would be worth it, believe me. I'd like you to suffer for years, yet I prefer that you perish soon because the longer you live, the more others will endure pain, hardship, and die because of your neglect."

Another rasping breath escaped the old man. "Professor Lupin told me of your fearful experience in his class. I am truly sorry, my boy."

"No you're not. You're incapable of caring for anyone. You care only about your plans and schemes, dreams of greatness, the end game. The pieces you sacrifice along the way are scarcely worth a sigh to you. You set out to break a tiny child but you created a bitter demon. This demon is now intent only on your suffering and death."

"Harry, I promise you, before that end, I will explain everything. Then you will agree it was all for the greater good."

"Fuck your greater good!" Harry stomped off to the door. "And fuck you!" he called back over his shoulder as he went out.

.

Sorry Tales

When spring arrived, there was further horror at Hogwarts. A man had somehow obtained the Gryffindor password. A terrible fight had taken place. The mad intruder was killed, but Percy Weasley and another prefect also died in the dormitory melee. Everyone was mystified as to why. Neville Longbottom was expelled with no public explanation. The boy was inconsolable as he trudged out of the gate with his grandmother. Some said he'd let the killer in – even collaborated in the atrocity – but Harry found that hard to believe for the poor boy was clearly broken by his experience. Much more believable was that Dumbledore was to blame. He'd discovered that if he blamed the Headmaster for everything, he was right nine times out of ten. The world would be better off without the heartless meddler.

Accused, and looking dreadfully old, Dumbledore appealed to the Wizengamot. He persuaded them to blame Fudge for not doing enough to catch the intruder who, Harry learned, had escaped from Azkaban. The Minister's position became precarious. He was expected to be replaced by the summer yet, as a distraction, Fudge promoted the restoration of an old tradition at Hogwarts which should see the country strengthened by unity with its European neighbours. Harry's friends couldn't wait to see what it would be, but Harry himself had become sceptical of anything that took place at Hogwarts.

One day before Harry's birthday, there was a sad account in the Daily Prophet of how Neville Longbottom had hung himself from his favourite Alihotsy tree in the family garden that he loved. Apparently the murderer had somehow obtained the Gryffindor password from Neville's lost note, and the boy had been torn apart by guilt ever since. Harry shook his head sadly and took care to spell the surname carefully in his diary. The book was becoming a grim memorial to those he regretted having never known – now it was too late. He began to write in other names now: the names of the living along with everything he could learn about them. Perhaps he might extend the hand of friendship before it was too late.

On the back page of the same newspaper were two paragraphs describing Fred Weasley's short life. He had finally succumbed to his injuries and died alone in the night at St. Mungo's. The boy had suffered for a long time. The additional burden of constantly trying to forgive his deceased brother George for egging him on to spray Firewhisky on the young dragon raised illegally by the Hogwarts gamekeeper had finally broken him. It was a sorry tale and Harry was determined to find out the name of the dragon in case Hannah asked.

.

The Real Professor

Quidditch was cancelled at the start of the new school year to be replaced by a special inter-school tournament. Participants were to be selected by a large flaming goblet. Harry was more interested in Hannah's outstanding end-of-term results. She was top in her year again and the Deputy Headmistress had agreed with Madam Sprout to move her ahead a year. Harry informally joined her in the fifth-year classes, the staff having long since given up on assigning him detentions or even deducting house points – though they now could. Somehow the staff had come to accept his noncompliance and no one could influence him. The odd time someone forgot, Potter simply went ahead and achieved something spectacular so was promptly awarded double what he'd lost.

Harry was delighted to discover that Lupin had been dismissed. There had been crazy, bizarre talk that the man had attacked and eaten a kitchen elf but the story was too outrageous to be true. The teacher's replacement was Professor Moody. Apart from his strange appearance, Harry sensed something very odd about the man's magical aura. Only when he noticed on his map that the man's true name was Barty Crouch did he come to the conclusion that the teacher was an impostor. When he asked around, it was generally agreed that Moody was a very close friend of Dumbledore and to be trusted absolutely. For that reason alone, Harry decided to keep an eye on him. Had the Headmaster planted a mole to watch over Harry? Or was something more sinister afoot?

Harry and Hannah were spending a lot of time in the library now, studying for their OWLs. He assured her that, unlike all his previous tests, he would not deliberately aim for low or average marks. "Previous tests were for the school to evaluate our progress; this is the first set by an outside examination board and which will affect our careers," he explained.

As well as helping Hannah, he was ploughing ahead beyond OWL level with his own studies – almost NEWT in some disciplines. He'd mastered Polyjuice and its counter spell long before, of course, always preferring a simpler ageing potion on his researches at the Ministry. Now he discovered an odour detection charm that would reveal the use of the potion without giving the game away. Sure enough, not only was the man using an assumed name, Moody wasn't even who he appeared to be!

Harry began closely following him on his map and by October had discovered the real Moody was hiding or trapped in the Defence teacher's quarters. Harry went directly to the Deputy Headmistress.

"Nonsense, Potter! The Headmaster is not plotting to kill you or anyone! Where is your evidence? Have you told me the truth?"

Harry was reluctant to show her the map; it would surely be confiscated. He sighed. McGonagall had been a bit huffy ever since stories had begun circulating that Harry had deliberately swayed the Sorting Hat to put him in Hufflepuff just so he could be with Hannah Abbott.

"I didn't!" he blurted out without thinking, and was sent on his way with a warning not to tell fibs ever again.

.

Rooting for Cedric

On the 30th, participants from the other schools arrived. A beautiful fair-haired girl caught Harry's eye and he couldn't help thinking she'd look almost as nice as Hannah if she braided her hair. Hannah saw him looking and gave him a nudge.

"What? I was looking at Madame Maxime." That only earned him another nudge.

"You entering, Cedric?" asked Harry, once they were all gathered in the Great Hall once more.

Diggory nodded. "Bailey says he'll stand down and support me if I put my name in."

"We're _all_ rooting for you Cedric," cried Ernie.

"HURRAH!" went up the roar, to the annoyance of many in the hall, but evoking a smile from Madam Sprout who was clearing trying to suppress a fist pump.

But Harry was determined to focus on Moody. All that evening and late into the night he watched his map. Names occasionally appeared approaching the flaming goblet, but he had eyes for one only. Crouch! There he was, moving into position beside the vessel as if guarding it. Was he waiting for a victim? What was his plan?

Harry fell asleep watching, and woke the next morning with a crick in his neck which was quickly soothed away using one of Granny's old recipes from his copious flatbag, and applied by Hannah's gentle fingers.

"Hannah, what do you think happens when you die? I mean, wouldn't it be wonderful to live forever?"

"Depends who you're with, Harry," she said playfully tickling some solution onto his ear lobe.

"Yeah, guess I'd better start searching – OW!"

"Oh, sorry, did I dig in too hard?"

.

The Magical Contract

At the Halloween feast, Harry was extra vigilant. Would the goblet's flames leap out to fill the Hall? Explode? He heard a couple of names selected then a soft chant started up for Cedric and he quickly joined in.

The Goblet of Fire turned red; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled a piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

A great roar went up. "HURRAH!"

Harry applauded enthusiastically along with the rest of them. Nothing threatening had occurred. He'd been wrong to worry, and could relax. _Perhaps some good can come of this! Yay for Cedric!_

"Harry Potter."

 _Cedric's smart enough to win,_ he nodded to himself. _And we can all help him!_

"Harry Potter."

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

"Harry Potter!" the Headmaster called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

Harry shook his head and stayed where he was. "You've done it wrong. Cedric's our champion."

"Harry, the goblet has selected you. You must go through the door."

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. Whatever you're planning, I'm not falling for it."

Apart from the occasional splutter of a candle, absolute silence held the great chamber spellbound.

"We'll discuss this in private." Dumbledore turned away, expecting Harry to follow. He wasn't smiling now.

"You do that," Harry called after him.

"Please, Harry, be reasonable. You have been magically selected and cannot refuse."

"Yet that's exactly what I am doing."

Snape was staring at Harry, his black eyes glittering maliciously. Moody was impassive, unmoving, almost too still. Hannah was nudging his arm hesitantly, confused as to what was going on or the implications of it.

"Very well. We'll talk later," said Dumbledore, and strode out through the door.

There was only a short pause before chattering began and increased in volume to shouts and cries from every house.

"How'd your name get in, Harry?" called Bailey, who was a little sore that he'd pulled out of the competition so Cedric would be the only serious Hufflepuff contender.

"Don't know, but I'm definitely not participating. Cedric's the Hogwarts champion, and I'll support him no matter what!"

"Good for you. We're with you on this, Harry," said Bailey.

That settled the confusion. To the Hufflepuffs, someone had put Harry's name in the goblet and they were annoyed at whoever had done it.

"Why?" – "Are they trying to get Harry killed?" – "Did the Goblet get confused because Harry might be better than Cedric?" – "Oh, come on!"

McGonagall clapped her hands and called for order. "Houses will please depart back to their common rooms. "Potter, you will remain behind."

"I'll spare you a few minutes but then I'm going to bed. I've more important things to do tomorrow than sort out the goblet's bad spellwork. That's someone else's job."

McGonagall glared at Harry then strode off to the far door and went out. Hannah remained sitting by Harry's side. Moody continued to stare impassively ahead but Harry was certain he himself was in his focus – especially of that weird magical eye. Snape was muttering to Moody and Harry knew it would likely be some snide remark about himself. He caught the word 'arrogant' and 'just like his father'.

But McGonagall returned almost immediately followed by Dumbledore and the heads of the other two schools and all the officials and participants as well. Cedric was looking at Harry with great curiosity.

"Would you come here please, Harry."

"No. You fucked it up. You come here."

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" said Madame Maxime. "zat 'e talks zis way?"

"Harry, I had nothing to do with this." The Headmaster was walking forward and the other followed in his wake until they were gathered adjacent to the Hufflepuff table.

"You're a liar, Dumb Balls. It's everything to do with you. It's ALWAYS you."

A grey-haired man said, "Mr Potter, the placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract; you must participate."

"Who are you?" said Harry, wishing he'd paid more attention earlier and wrote it in his diary.

"I, Mr Potter, am Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

That made Harry sit up straight. He itched to pull out his map. He stood up. "I have to go now. Enjoy your tournament."

"Mr Potter!" cried McGonagall as, with Hannah by his side, Harry strode off out of the main doorway and to the door that lead down to the Hufflepuff basement. His map was out almost before he was through the door.

"My God..."

"What is it, Harry?"

"There are TWO of Barty Crouch in there!" Harry stared for a few moments more. "Wait here."

He hurried back into the Hall. "Listen up!" he shouted. "I, Harry James Potter swear on my magic that I did not put my name in the Goblet of Fire and I further swear on my magic that I will not under any circumstances, compete or even participate. So mote it be."

Shouts and cries followed him as he strode out but he slammed the door behind him and ignored them all.

"Oh, Harry, I heard! What will happen to you now?" said Hannah.

He stopped on the stairs to explain. "To me? Nothing. There are hundreds of magical contracts made every year. I should know, I've studied tons of documents at the Ministry. They are usually defined in written text – in this case the rules of the Tournament apply. Contracts are rarely ever broken for two reasons: One is that the magic will force compensation to the other party, but no greater than their loss. Since the Tournament loses nothing if I don't participate, they can't get a single Knut. The other reason is any businessman who breaks a contract would then be regarded as untrustworthy and have great difficulty with future deals. In my case I really don't care."

"But don't they know that?"

Harry resumed walking down slowly. "They're all set in their ways. It so rarely happens they cannot conceive of anyone breaking a contract. They didn't even consider the possibility. Dumbledore should have investigated but he was trapped in his own assumption. Or maybe he _does_ know but doesn't care. Did you notice that not one of them said what would happen to anyone breaking a contract? That's because it's so unthinkable they don't even go there."

Another voice spoke, "Thanks, Harry. Glad to know all that – in case it gets rough."

Harry looked back up the stair: Cedric had caught up with them.

"Yeah, well, just because _we_ know, doesn't mean we have to tell _them_ , does it?" grinned Harry with a sly wink.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _It's worth repeating that these deaths were likely if Harry was broken. In the original book, Sirius Black used a knife to attack Scabbers – scaring Ron badly. But in my fic, without Harry, Ron was killed by the Troll so Sirius saw the rat on Percy's shoulder in the Daily Prophet photo. Sirius didn't know Scabbers was 'put to sleep' in Egypt. And Percy is not Ron, he's almost eighteen years old at this point, and a fighter as proven in the Battle of Hogwarts. A stranger with a knife ripping open his bed coverings, and Percy, half-awake, retaliates instinctively. Other 7th-year Gryffindors join in. The knife flashes in self defence against the frantic wands. People die in sudden fights amongst armed men. Blame Dumbledore, who can't even keep a dog out of Hogwarts let alone Voldemort. Even though he knows Sirius has already broken in once and slashed the fat lady portrait because at that point he hadn't yet got the password!_

 _Now Neville has a strong moral sense but a poor memory. In the original book he wrote down the Gryffindor passwords but carelessly dropped his note which Sirius found. Apart from a bad scare, nobody was hurt in the original scene and Neville only received detentions I think and maybe banned from Hogsmeade. His same mistake in this fic cost lives and he was expelled. His feelings of guilt must have been intolerable, and without any further magical education, he could see no future, and probably felt he didn't deserve one. Ironically, the Alihotsy Tree is the tree of happiness._

 _MarisAres felt that Dobby's death was not credible. There is some merit in that view. I never planned Dobby's death but I'd not given him any thought in my original story design at all. Then I remembered him and had to either recruit him which might mean rewriting and complicate things – or dispose of him. Now I like Dobby but it does annoy me he intrudes without invitation and he's pretty stupid in that sense. How'd you like to come home and find a weird creature on your bed? Now, MarisAres says, "...who would enter a room and just start throwing lethal weapons fire around?" And my answer is, "a BROKEN boy in fear for his life, is who." I hate most fics when Harry walks into a situation where there's a Death Eater, chats for a bit, then tries a silly stunning or disarming spell, then chats for a bit more so other Death Eaters can circle around him, and so on. THIS IS WAR! Kill the bastard first chance, I say, or they may kill you! And elves, don't go entering illegally into people's homes unless you accept they might have a shotgun and you might die. Make an appointment like any civilised elf. Having said all that, I do sympathise with your viewpoint, MarisAres, and my scene was OTT I admit, and I kinda wish I'd simply got Harry to threaten the elf and order him to leave and never come back._

 _The final chapter is set for next week. Will Harry kill Dumbledore before he dies anyway? Will Harry die if he doesn't kill him? Will they make up and hug? Not likely. :D_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	10. The End Is In Sight

.

 _So far... Badly mistreated, young Harry Potter discovers magic and meets Anne Tremble who trains him and warns of Dumbledore's meddling. After she dies, Harry inherits her home but no money. He hardens up on the streets, thieving and fighting. He's sorted into Hufflepuff and befriends Hannah Abbot. Tragedies highlight the Headmaster's negligence, and Harry makes a magical vow to kill Dumbledore. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 10**

 **The End Is In Sight**

* * *

.

The Man Who Fled

In the morning after Harry had refused to participate in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Professor Moody's absence was noted by both staff and students. A search was put underway. Filch was found dead near the castle entrance, with his cat laying crushed beside him. Aurors were called in yet again. The Defence teacher's quarters were turned over.

McGonagall came to see Harry and found him coming up the stairs from the Hufflepuff basement along with other students hungry for breakfast.

"Potter, I owe you an apology for not giving due respect to your suspicions about Professor Moody."

"Did you find the real Professor?"

"We did. He's recuperating in St. Mungo's. He has informed us that an impostor has been posing as him since the beginning of the term."

"What!" cried the Hufflepuffs who'd gathered around to listen.

"We believe he was confronted by Mr Filch as he made his escape. Our caretaker never stood a chance." McGonagall bowed her head.

"I ought to have pressed you further," said Harry.

"I should have listened. I'm sorry, Potter ... and for... _everything..._ " Her voice faded with awkwardness.

"That could have been any one of us!" wailed Susan. "The school's not safe!"

"I assure you the danger is over," said McGonagall.

"What about Harry?" said Hannah. "Did this have anything to do with...?"

"Yes, it is now accepted that the impostor put Mr Potter's name in the Goblet of Fire, presumably with the hope that he would not survive."

Leanne squealed. Hannah cried out too, and clutched at Harry's arm.

"So once that man realised he'd failed, he ran away?"

"We believe he first tried to get into the Hufflepuff common room, but did not succeed."

The fearful cries of those listening began to attract others, and the corridor became very crowded. "He was here!" – "We could all have been murdered!" – "Can we be sure he's gone?"

"But why did he want to get _me_ killed in particular?" asked Harry. "I didn't even know him."

"Mr Potter, the man who gave you that scar had many followers who might wish to complete what You-Know-Who set out to achieve but failed."

"To kill me..." said Harry. "That's great. And here I am, a sitting duck in this prison with no protection. Maybe I'll escape next year if I get my OWLs. This place is far too dangerous."

"Mr Potter! I'll have you know that Hogwarts is..."

"Is what?"

"I have duties to perform." And with a whirl and a swish, Professor McGonagall was gone. Clearly she'd found herself unable to claim that Hogwarts was safe, considering all that had happened.

.

Careering Ahead

Harry had very little interest in the Tournament after that. He and Hannah spent most free time together studying for OWLs. Christmas came and went. Dumbledore seemed to deteriorate in the cold weather. He was wheezing and hobbling now. Harry considered offering him his old crutch but wasn't sure the old man would take the gift in the spirit intended. _He'd know if I shove it up his–_

"– _Ars Magica..._ " said Hannah, "have you seen it?"

"Uumm..." Startled, Harry looked wildly around the library where they were sat doing their homework.

She handed over a small training manual. "You'd be amazed at all the dark stuff that's in it. Should be right up your street."

Around Easter, the Deputy Headmistress was interviewing fifth-years about their futures.

"Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"

"I'm not quite decided. I love books. Flourish and Blotts sometimes take on staff in their stock room – filling shelves and suchlike. It's not much, but it's a start."

McGonagall seemed to have been hit with a petrifying spell. "I beg your pardon?"

"There's also a big gardening centre near where I live. They often need handlers in their warehouse. In time I might get promoted to work on a checkout in the shop itself."

"A Muggle store? But Potter, surely you cannot mean that? You are a year ahead of your peers and would excel at a Ministerial post or–"

"–I'm not really cut out for magic. When I was young I loved reading story books. I'd hoped to become a writer or illustrator but that needed an advanced Muggle education which Dumbledore denied me. He crushed all my dreams the day he abducted and imprisoned me here. I've never known why," he added despondently.

McGonagall reeled back in her chair. It was if Potter had smacked her in the face. Only now did she truly began to realise the atrocity that had been committed. "As your magical guardian he–"

"–There is no such thing!" Harry pulled out the diary from his flatbag. "Colin Creevey doesn't have a magical guardian." He turned a few pages. "Nor Dean Thomas. So why me? No, Dumbledore informally took on the role by force."

McGonagall stared at the book. "Is that my...?"

"Erm... no, I bought this in Flourish and Blotts while I was asking them about job prospects," said Harry as he hastily put away his diary. He was very, very good at lying as well as stealing.

There was a new intensity as the date of the examinations approached. Students were panicking. Some were seen walking the corridors with dazed expressions reciting dates of goblin rebellions or potion ingredients down to the last giblet. Homework was replaced by endless revision. Harry was reasonably confident in most of the subjects he was taking, but had to keep reassuring Hannah. They struggled through the two weeks but would not know the results until July.

Cedric Diggory won the Tournament and returned triumphant from the final task, cup in hand. Yet Krum never came back. Some said he'd run away, too ashamed by the defeat, others that he'd been strangled and devoured by the Sphinx for failing to answer its riddle.

"HURRAH!"

.

Home Course

The summer holidays arrived and, with the Headmaster confining himself more and more to his office, Harry departed the castle with Hannah on the Hogwarts Express. The boy wasted no time at the Dursleys but regularly invited his girlfriend and her mother to the living house in Much Wittering.

This was a happy time, but Harry kept busy too. He'd had an idea to help the Abbots and spent time researching in what he still thought of as 'Granny's Basement.'

"Yes!"

Harry was on his hands and knees. His wand wavered, flickering delicately. A new rune appeared on the solid foundations of the home, completing a circle he had been preparing for the last few days.

"Is that it?" asked Hannah.

"Think so. Try it now."

She conjured a chair and hovered it into the centre, then sat down and opened up her laptop. Her face was lit up when the display sprang immediately to life. "It works!" she shrieked. "Mum, you've totally got to try this!"

"How are you doing this, Harry?" said Mrs Abbott, taking the little PC from her daughter. "Instant boot up..."

"Oh, just a twiddly bit I added to that fourth rune while I've been trying to get the electrics to work here. This place is steeped in magic."

"So I can get you that digital watch for your birthday?"

"That's be great! Thanks, Mrs Abbott. My next task will be reducing the runic circle into one of the bands I wear on my wrist. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Why do you wear those things..." murmured Hannah's mum, still happily tapping away.

"Uumm..."

"This is wonderful!" said Mrs Abbott. "And you're sure you don't mind about setting it up at our house as well, Harry?"

"No worries. Especially now Hannah's thinking about software as a career. What did McGonagall say, Hannah?"

"Didn't know what I was talking about!" she laughed. "When she asked about subjects I was like, 'C plus plus' and she was like, huh?"

They went upstairs and sat on the porch drinking juice. The weather was fine. It had been a good summer so far.

"Is that...? Is that your cousin?" said Hannah.

Harry rocked back on his chair. "Oh, yeah. Muggles can never see this place. I erm... persuaded him to come to the private path if any owls arrived." He put his drink down and went over.

"Yo, big Dud, what you got there?"

Dudley squeaked and jumped around. "Where'd you come from? I've been standing here two hours!"

"Good, good..." Harry took the envelope that was in Dudley's hand then began tearing it open as he walked back towards his home. He stopped suddenly and glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh yeah, you can go home now, Duds." Harry was really becoming a more caring person at last.

"Well?" said Hannah excitedly, as Harry flumped back into his comfy chair.

"Got what I wanted anyway. Acceptable in History. Four Outstandings... couple of Exceeds..." He handed over the report.

"Did you really, really try?"

"Erm... yeah, course I did." He quickly changed the subject. "Got next year's book list too..." He passed it over. "When we go to Blotts I want to make some enquiries about the kinds of books they stock."

"So... you're definitely going back to Hogwarts?" said Mrs Abbott.

"Yeah, got unfinished business. But definitely be my last year, I reckon, depending what Hannah wants to do."

Hannah nodded. "I've been thinking about it a lot. It would mean I could take a home course in the Muggle subjects I need, and with Mum's help I should be able to get a foothold."

"Here's to that!" said Harry, raising his goblet.

.

Waiting for a Sign

The new school year started well enough. Harry was pleased to find Dumbledore stayed more in his office, and when he appeared at meals he had to be helped to his chair, grimacing. He'd been vilified in the Daily Prophet for claiming that Voldemort was back, and the accusations and humiliations were adding to his burden. Apparently Krum's body had been discovered in an old cemetery. Whoever his enemy had been, the boy had put up a fierce struggle but eventually overcome. There were signs that blood had been taken and a grave disturbed. The Headmaster insisted this was proof that the Sphinx had been Confunded to take Krum from the maze so that a ritual could be carried out.

Rita Skeeter had a field day: _The Headmaster is a few pips short of a pumpkin if he supposes You-Know-Who has come back from the dead. The tragedy is, he's depriving some village of an idiot and should be despatched back to Godric's Hollow forthwith. Soon is too late for this reporter._

"His frog's lost its chocolate for sure," mused Susan as she looked up at Dumbledore while reaching for another slice of toast.

The real Moody had returned to fill the Defence post and seemed quite capable, though he was often dropping hints to Harry that he'd make a decent Auror if he put his mind to it and became more vigilant. Harry said he'd think about it. He was good at lying even if the guy thought he could see right through him.

Cedric had completed his Hogwarts education the previous year. Hannah had been offered a prefect badge but declined. _Not if Harry's not getting one!_ she fumed. Susan Bones received the honour instead.

Harry and Hannah coasted through their lessons, secretly studying Muggle books on things like computer science and _Handling Your Books!_ by Clifton Stack. But always Harry had his eye on the prize. If Dumbledore cracked this term, then the boy wanted to kick the pieces about. All it needed was one more tragedy and the impatient boy would lose his cool.

"What is it, Harry?" Hannah whispered in his ear, "You're trembling."

"Nothing," he'd say reassuringly, "I'm fine."

But he wasn't. The growing tension was worse than when they'd been waiting for the OWL exams last term. In December he exploded, slapping his palm down on the latest Daily Prophet. "Read that!" he snarled to Susan, who'd been the one unfortunate enough to be nearest to him in the common room.

 _Tragedy at the Ministry! Arthur Weasley, the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was found dead during the night near the Department of Mysteries. Why he was there is not clear. What is known is that he had been paralysed by snake venom, eaten, then, semi-digested, regurgitated in the small hours and later died in a lonely corridor to which he'd crawled. This is the sixth tragedy in the life of the Weasley family who had previously lost five of their seven children at Hogwarts School under the care of the infamous Albus Dumbledore. It is understood that Bill Weasley has applied to be transferred from his Gringotts post in Egypt back to England so he can be close to his distraught mother Molly, who has been declared mentally unfit to take care of herself, and has been confined in St. Mungo's._

Harry didn't need to write down Mrs Weasley's name. He was beyond furious and pushed over his limit. Certain that the Headmaster was involved, he waited and watched vigilantly for a sign. He took to listening at keyholes, and invisible, squatting atop the wardrobe in the staffroom when he knew Moody was elsewhere.

"It will not be long now, I fear," he heard McGonagall tell Flitwick. "Albus confided to me he will not be leaving his room again."

Flitwick sighed. "It will be a blessing when he passes; he's suffered more than any man has ever suffered..."

.

The Alibi

Regarded now as a senior, Harry called a meeting in the Hufflepuff Sanctum.

"My career is at stake," he declared, "and so is Hannah's. It is essential that I make a quick visit to Flourish and Blotts to acquire specialist books, but Dumbledore will not allow me to leave. I'd like to be able to read them over Christmas."

"You're a Hufflepuff, Harry. What can we do?" asked Ernie.

"I've found an escape route, but Dumbledore will punish me if he found out. I need an alibi. Something infallible that cannot be challenged." He paused, waiting while three prefects put their heads together, Susan amongst them.

Several minutes passed. Finally, Susan rose to announce, "It has long been considered that Harry Potter should be rewarded for his contributions and service to this, our beloved House. Accordingly, for the first time in Hogwarts History, a physical Hufflepuff medal will be struck, to be known for all time as _The Harry Potter Award_ and you, Harry, shall be its first recipient. So mote it be!"

"HURRAH! HURRAH! HURRAH!"

Harry was almost dumbstruck. This was far better than he'd hoped. "I don't know what to say..." For once, he wasn't lying.

.

Denied Access

When the Headmaster told his deputy that it was urgent she fetch Harry Potter, he had no idea that the boy was already concealed undetectably behind the great bookshelf in his office. Tearfully, McGonagall pushed a linen serviette under Dumbledore's chin to catch the drool, wheeled him closer to his desk so he would not keel over, then left without another word.

On reaching the Hufflepuff Basement she was informed that Harry was at a prestigious award ceremony in the inner sanctum and not even the Minister for Magic himself could enter that holy of holies. She was told a message would be delivered to Harry and he'd be on his way as soon as possible. Meanwhile, would she accept some refreshment from the reception banquet set out in the common room? Within minutes of downing a Firewhisky, Professor Minerva McGonagall dozed off in the comfy chair in which she was reclining. Perhaps they'd been more than fire and whiskey in her drink.

.

The Murder

Harry tiptoed invisibly in front of Dumbledore towards the entrance door and knocked.

"Come in."

The boy opened the door, stepped outside briefly, then came back in again visibly.

"Are there you are, my boy!" croaked Dumbledore in a faint, raspy kind of voice. "Thank you for coming."

"Did I have a choice?"

"The time has come for you to be informed of your duty," said Dumbledore. "Please ... sit down." He'd inserted just sufficient pause to make it a command.

Harry did so, pulling himself forward as closely as possible to the Headmaster's desk and leaned forward to listen intently to the weak intonations breathed out by the feeble wretch he saw before him.

"What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy." Dumbledore struggled to lift his wand and pointed it at a tiny gargoyle figure stood upon his desk next to the inkwell. "Dark Delights," he murmured, and the little gargoyle sprinted away and headed out of the door.

"Your new password?"

"Yes, I cannot allow anyone to just wander in unannounced and... I'm rather partial to Muggle confectionery." The old man began to cough. There was a little blood now on his lips.

Harry waited. Finally he might hear why the Headmaster was so interested in him – enough to have confined and controlled him for most of his life.

Dumbledore struggled on gamely, drawing just enough breath for each word: "There ... is ... a ... prophecy ..."

Harry reached into his flatbag and pulled out a glass orb. "You mean _this_ fucking prophecy?" He stretched forward and smashed the sphere into Dumbledore's face, shattering the glass, and breaking the old man's spectacles and his already crooked nose. "That's for Hermione Granger!" He didn't need to check his diary.

Dumbledore seemed to have stopped breathing. Particles of blue glass twinkled in his eyes and showed on his tongue as he tried to draw more air. A long time seemed to pass before: "Harry... how...?"

"From the age of eight I've been conducting extensive research of the records at the Ministry, and I retrieved that sodding thing before I even came to Hogwarts. The records show that almost no prophecies come true."

"But..."

"And do you know why most of them don't come true? The only ones to come true are those that are known to the participants. Strange that isn't it? All participants need to accept a prophecy before it can come true and I, Harry Potter, totally reject this bilge. So mote it be."

"You cannot–"

"–It is done. Is that all, old man?" He made as if to get up.

"Wait ... are you ... are you not here to ... to slay me? You must! else ..."

"No, fool! You're blinded by your own self-importance! I killed you long ago – the very first time I walked into this office as a matter of fact." With one swift stride, Harry kicked over the Headmaster's bowl of sherbet lemons and they scattered to every corner of the office.

"You ... you poisoned me?" Dumbledore began coughing again. More blood was trickling from his mouth. "Impossible," he breathed finally. "My illness ... neither toxin ... nor curse. An ancient malady ... passed down ... from my forebears."

Harry held up his hand. "The curse I placed on the sherbet lemon you ate that day is not killing you directly. That magical candy modified the very cells of your body, then passed out of your system taking the curse with it. Untraceable, undetectable, the malignancy spread. Very, very slowly at first, but just as deadly, just as incurable for all that."

"You were only ... _eleven years old!"_ Dumbledore appeared to have used up his last reserves, all the air in his lungs, but managed to add, " _don't ... believe ... you."_

"As you wish. I'll be off then." Harry walked to the door.

"Wait! There's more! ..."

"Yes?"

"Please..."

"Taking your secrets to the grave with you, eh, Dumb Balls? Last chance or I'm gone."

Dumbledore's head rocked back and his mouth gaped. There was a sense of his breaking a dreadful promise to himself but he had no other choice. Twisting his mouth into anguished shapes, he finally uttered one word, "Horcruxes."

"Is that it?" scoffed Harry. "Is that your great secret? Your master plan? Okay, I'll mention it to everyone. See what they make of the riddle. You know, for someone who hasn't got much time left, you're really dragging this out."

"Aaaaaahhh... top drawer," hissed Dumbledore as though tearing out a rotten tooth.

"What?"

A finger pointed. "Documents. I swear that's everything I know. It's yours if you promise."

Harry walked across, then hesitated. From several paces away he summoned the drawer open. A vapour rose up with a sickening howl of anguish.

" _Satan's Breath_ if I'm not much mistaken. Also known as _Tempter's Compulsion_. Did Snape make that up for you? It's just his style. Still up to your old tricks..." Harry shook his head and turned away.

"My chest."

"What?"

"Top pocket. Over my heart. ... Never leaves me. ... Till now."

From where he was, Harry did some tricky manipulations. The Headmaster's beard and cloak were wafted aside, a pocket was revealed. From within, an envelope lifted itself and floated onto the top of the desk.

"Open it, Dumb Balls."

"I cannot. I am spent."

Ever cautious, Harry traced out a pattern on the envelope with his wand then smiled. "Dumble – Dumble – Dumble, what a fucking arsewipe you are. It's tied to your wand's magic and _your_ wand only." He raised his own wand. "Expelliarmus!"

"No!"

The Headmaster's wand flew from the tips of his limp fingers. Desperately his eyes flew to the portraits which had been strangely quiet for some time. Harry noticed the direction of the old man's gaze.

"I lured them away with the promise of fresh paint," explained Harry. "It's slow drying and very tacky. They won't be back for days. I've been planning this a long, long time."

He raised the Headmaster's wand. It seemed to like him. " _Alohomora Maxima Exultis!"_

The seal was broken. Harry spilled out the contents. There were details of several Horcruxes and clues as to others.

Dumbledore stirred with hopeless resignation. "A Horcrux is a–"

"–I know what a fucking Horcrux is, old man. I was taught by one of the greatest witches of the age. You should know her; she was one of your sacrifices."

Dumbledore was weeping with pain now. "Who?"

"Are there so many?" said Harry softly. "It was Anne Tremble who rescued me from your evil doings."

Dumbledore cringed. "Miss Tremble? I thought... she might have ... I had to make sure ..." He froze suddenly as realisation dawned in his watery eyes. "Harry! Tell me, was it you that ... took the Stone?"

"You mean _this_ old stone?" said Harry, drawing the Philosopher's Stone from his flatbag.

"Harry, I beg you... you can heal me with–"

"–Nope!" He put it away again.

"But together we..."

The Headmaster's eyes flicked to the bottle of painkiller on the shelf. Harry placed it before him on the desk before smashing it and watching the contents drain away.

"You still don't get it, do you? Read my lips: I _want_ you to fucking suffer! I want you to endure the agony of your victims before you die!" He rapped him on the forehead with his knuckles and Dumbledore's hat skewed sideways making him appear rather ridiculous.

"You cannot mean that, Harry. We might–"

"–I'm leaving you now, old man. Have a nice death."

"The Horcruxes!"

"Fuck 'em! It was never my problem. You should have enlisted the help of experts years ago, you deluded old goat. Vows of silence would have sufficed. Instead, you stupidly _accepted_ the words of a dumb prophecy. But the mystery remains: why alienate me? Why inflict such suffering that I was bound to loathe and despise you with every fibre of my being? Did it never occur to you that I would never rest until I gained retribution? The pain was – that reminds me. I almost forgot."

He placed his wand against his own temple and, after many minutes of anguished twirling, drew out a very long, very thick, silvery grey strand. Harry appeared then as if a great weight had been lifted from his broken mind. "This represents the years of terror and agony of a little boy without hope or love. Now my misery is yours to experience endlessly."

"NO! Don't do this I beg you!" shrieked Dumbledore, cringing away.

But Harry was without pity. He inserted the memories into Dumbledore's mind, then cast a Confundus charm to focus the old man's attention entirely upon them.

The Headmaster screamed. He was still screaming when Harry walked out the door. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Fucking Dumbledore was, at last... broken.

.

Do Not Disturb

Professor Minerva McGonagall slowly came to her senses and rubbed her eyes. Hufflepuffs were beginning to stream out of a red door across the way. She blinked as Harry emerged.

"Potter! Come with me! We have to hurry."

Together they strode through the hallways and up different stairs to the corridor where the Headmaster's office was located. "Cockroach Cluster!"

They waited. "Cockroach Cluster, you dumb gargoyle!"

Nothing happened.

Harry murmured a suggestion. "The Headmaster might be tired and may not wish to be disturbed. I could come back tomorrow if you like."

McGonagall was leaning forward, her aching forehead resting on the cool stone gargoyle behind which were the stairs leading up to the Headmaster's office. "Thought I heard... screaming..."

Wandlessly, Harry's compulsion charm turned her away and she forgot all about the task she had been assigned, and even about the Headmaster's condition.

"Perhaps you're right, Potter. Good night to you." And with that she stumbled away in a sort of... zigzag fashion.

.

The Blessing

It was lunchtime the next day before the alarm was raised. The Headmaster had not been heard from since the night before. No one seemed to know the password. Patronuses were sent without reply. Aurors were called. No one could break the wards and the gargoyle simply refused to budge.

Amelia Bones was sent for. If she couldn't figure a way in then nobody could. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus was discovered steeped in a vat in the Monks' tapestry on the third floor. He was ordered back to his post where he commanded the little gargoyle to reveal the new password.

"Dark Delights," said Madam Bones, then strode up the steps with her Aurors followed by McGonagall, Snape, and a firstie who had got lost on a moving staircase. They found the Headmaster slumped forward onto his desk amidst a scattering of glass. Snape confirmed it was the bottle that had contained only pain relief, and that Dumbledore was known to be dying of an incurable, inherited malady.

"At least he didn't suffer," said McGonagall. "That was a blessing."

When an Auror dragged Dumbledore upright, revealing his severely-contorted grimace and his bleeding twinkle, the firstie ran away shrieking and was later found quivering in a storeroom.

But Madam Bones was reading the information about the Horcruxes. "By Merlin! Kingsley, I want you to set up a special team. They are to be sworn to absolute secrecy and answerable only to me. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Madam."

"I have underestimated the old man. He deserves another Order of Merlin if this is true."

"Truly a great leader for the light," said Kingsley. "May he rest in peace."

.

One Hundred and Nineteen Years Later

Harry Potter picked up another box of books from a shelf and placed a few in a pile on the table before him in the shop window of Flourish and Blotts. Wearily he sat down and surveyed the long line of children and adults who had queued up for hours waiting for him to sign a copy of his latest illustrated storybook. Their eager faces stared back at him wonderingly, and their excited chatter filled the air. He could see Hannah and his kids waving and smiling from the counter; she was holding up the 4D e-book version which, thanks to the embedded runes, worked perfectly even in a shop as magical as this. His family looked much like they had when he'd seen them in the magic mirror one hundred and nineteen years before.

"Was Aggie a real little girl?" piped up the child next in line. "I love her best, she was so brave and noble."

"Yes," said Harry, as he autographed across a moving picture of a female punk with spiky hair, "yes, she was." He was still good at lying.

At last the boy who lived was... mended.

.

The End

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I had to stop there because I was running out of Weasleys. I don't think anyone guessed the ending. Nobody even guessed Arthur must die - you should have seen that coming! A little trivia: Arthur was attacked by Nagini while he was guarding the prophecy which nobody but Harry knew was no longer even there! Ars Magica is pigeon latin for 'The Art of Magic' and is non-canon. Also non-canon is 'my boy!' Virtually all bash fics use it but Dumbledore himself never said it in the books (though I kind of like it in a bash.) Only four people referred to Harry as 'my boy!' in book canon, and it's near impossible to guess who. I'll tell you at the end of these notes._

 _Now, Dumbledore's sherbet lemon curse modified him genetically – hope that was clear. Another point of canon I should clarify for anyone who doesn't know: electrical and electronic apparatus doesn't work well where there is a lot of magic such as at Hogwarts or Harry's home in Much Wittering. Indeed, it can be inferred that heavy use of magic in any wizard's home might upset lots of devices. Certainly using magic within electronic devices would be difficult – hence Harry's runic shield he invented for the Abbots. That reminds me, there really are several Witterings in the UK, but sadly, not a Much Wittering. And just so you know: wittering has a similar meaning to whinging, that is grumbling and complaining._

 _What about Voldemort? Let the experts deal with him. My broken Harry felt no more moral obligation to defeat Voldemort than any of the other thousands of kids whose parents had been murdered by the Dark Lord._

 _Okay, the trivia question about who referred to Harry as 'my boy'. The answers were: Oliver Wood (cried 'That's my boy' after a Quidditch win, Sybil Trelawney, Hagrid (when Harry lied to him and said he was making progress with the golden egg clue in GoF,) and Horace Slughorn._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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